DIRE : BORN

by Andrew Seiple

  “Yeah, we kind of heard of you,” Sparky said. “One of the OSS guys who survived castle Nachtjaeger got drunk on the way back to base. Told us how they had agents in Istanbul stoppin' Hitler's boys from getting' their hands on the Holy Grail. Said you were an ally.”

  “He probably broke a lot of regulations to tell you that,” said Khalid. “Yes, I was an ally back then. Not that the Grail would have done the Thule society much good on its own, but they could have bartered it to gain assistance from a darker quarter.”

  “While this is all very fascinating,” I spoke, “we have more pressing concerns. What aid can you offer us, and how can we help you end this thing?”

  “Uh, you're missing the part where we ask if we want to be involved in the first case,” said Martin. “Because this just changed from a gang war to a horror movie. And speaking as one of the black guys here, I know how horror movies go, and I really don't wanna die first.”

  “Pfft, man up, son,” Sparky said. “We're fightin' them anyways. This just makes it trickier.”

  I sighed. I was starting to fade. “Can Dire get some water?” Minna provided a bottle, and I gulped it down in thirty seconds. “She's with Sparky. They were jackasses before we knew this, they're jackasses now. Doesn't really change anything.”

  “Shit, let's call in the MRB,” said Martin. “Let their government asses handle it, our tax dollars at work and stuff.”

  Khalid shook his head. “Sadly, that would be a bad idea. The Bureau has rules for this sort of situation. The collateral damage it would cause would cost the lives of thousands. I cannot condone that.”

  “Then let's leave,” said Martin. “Got nothing tying us here. Just go.”

  “No.” Minna spoke for the first time she'd entered the room, and we looked to her in surprise. She hitched Anya up higher on her shoulder, as the child slept. “Nowhere to go. Can't move fast. They would hound us and kill us as we went.”

  I propped my head up, stared at Martin. “They killed Joan. So they die.”

  “God... fine. Fucking fine.” Martin jammed his hands in his pockets again. “Fine, fuck it let's go be fucking Van Helsing up in this shit.”

  I smiled, and let my head drop to the cot's pillow. Things were getting hazy. “We'll help you, Khalid, and you'll help us.”

  “Agreed,” he said. “Right now you need rest, though. Are we done for now?”

  I started to answer, but I'm pretty sure that midway through the sentence I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 15: Mourn for the Fallen, Brood on the Past

  “I wish I could tell you this was the easy path, but it's not. You'll make new friends as you go, and you'll lose them. And it'll hurt like nothing else. I know you. You're me, and the memory edit won't change that. And in its way, the pain is good. It will remind you that you're human. You'll need that, as time goes on. It's a good thing.”

  --Excerpt #14 from the Dire Monologues

  In the morning, we laid Joan to rest. The other bodies would be buried. For Joan, we felt she deserved something special. Before any of us, she'd been the heart of the camp. She'd been the caregiver, the sensible one, the one who was always looking ahead and trying to make sure we had enough to eat. The one who ensured we were warm and healthy.

  “We came here homeless and with nothing,” I spoke, as I stood in front of the boat. My armor was off, it seemed more respectful that way. “We were nothing but a gathering of vagrants, criminals, and the down and out. But she saw more than that. She saw in us a family. And she stepped up to be the mother without a word of complaint, or an unkind word for anyone.”

  I looked at her for a long moment, then shook my head. “Dire knew you for only a short time, but it felt like all of her life. You were kind to her, Joan. Dire shall never forget you.”

  I stepped back then. Sparky took my place, rolling up, solemn and sad. He looked down into the little rowboat, and stared at Joan's body for a long moment. Finally, just as I thought he'd lost his train of thought, he spoke. “Weren't but five of us to start, way back when. Me, Lily, Rob, Gladys, and Joan. Roy showed up a little while in, but for the longest time it was the five of us.”

  He sighed, deflating. For the first time I'd seen him, the weird vitality that surrounded him seemed to fade, leaving him looking old and worn. “Bloods took Lily and Rob first. But we fought them off, and we thought we was done. I guess—” He coughed, spat on the sand. His voice was hoarse as he continued. “Guess that wasn't so.” He patted the side of the boat. “We'll finish the job this time, Joanie-girl.” He glanced up. “Roy? Got anything to say?”

  Roy just shook his head, and Sparky rolled back. He was the last, the others had had their say already, adding personal memories. Minna's had been short and pushed the limits of her English. Martin had been overcome by tears, and couldn't finish. A few more of the camp had added in their stories, people I'd seen but not talked much with. No one had an unkind account. But thinking about it, saying such here would be the height of foolishness. Looking around at the crowd I saw the bonding in the shared grief, even for those who had only arrived last night. They had their own dead to mourn, some of them, and in this shared experience we were reminded that we were all human.

  For all that it was good, it was somewhat painful. I had the grim certainty that this wouldn't be the last funeral I attended. Depending on how things went, the next one could come very soon if we weren't careful and skilled.

  It was time. Tooms and Martin took the boat, and pushed it down the beach, back into the water it had been painstakingly pulled from yesterday. They pushed it out as far as they could get it, and then Khalid wound up, and pitched a bottle into the oil-soaked rags we'd lined the boat with. This bottle, unlike the last I'd seen him hurl, didn't explode into greasy red flame. The fire was smaller, simply orange and smoky, but it did the job it needed to do as it flickered in the cold wind.

  I went back to my armor. After the beating it had taken last night, it needed repairs. Fortunately, I still had materials left over from the SUV. Although I'd used up most of the critical electronic components from it already, I had enough left over to do basic repairs. And Abernathy was a quick student and a serious help, even if she had to work to keep up with me.

  As I knelt down and picked up the wrench from the tarp full of tools, a shadow fell across me. Roy.

  I looked up, nodded to him. He smiled. “Glad to see ya up and about, Ell-Dee.”

  “Ell Dee?” I asked.

  “Lady Dire. It's a pun, we used to call our lieutenant Ell-Tee back in the war.”

  “Dire's not in command here,” I said. “No rank. If anything, it's you and Sparky in charge.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. We were enlisted the full trip through. Not leader types. I only done what I did here cause no one else wanted it. But you? You got a way about you. Besides, it ain't necessarily a good thing,” he said. “With the rank comes the responsibility.”

  “She'd have that anyway,” I frowned. “Can't leave things the way they are. Would be sloppy. Too much collateral.”

  He grinned. “And that's why yer Ell-Dee ta me, now. But hell, don't take my word on it. Go talk ta Martin, go talk ta Minna. Guarantee you that right now they're lookin' for a shoulder to lean on. Listen to'em, hear 'em out. It's what a good see-oh does.”

  I didn't know what a see-oh was. Assumed he was using military jargon.“You think it'd help?” I asked.

  “I know it would. Go get'em boss!”

  I decided to let it slide, and nodded. “All right. After she finishes some adjustments to the armor, she'll go talk to people. You keep an eye on Sparky. Keep him safe.”

  “Always do,” He grinned, showing yellow teeth. We stood, and walked back to the camp.

  I sat down at my armor again, picked up the wrench, and got to work. I'd warped the coilgun barrel slightly when I'd used it to pound the draugr's head in, last night. Some gentle pressure and heat from my welder allowed me to straighten it again... not perfectly, but this wasn't a precisio
n weapon to begin with. For the enemies I was up against, I didn't really need precision weapons. Not when fire was available. For that, I had commandeered the homemade still of one of the camp residents. I'd paid him three times what it was worth for the pipes, hoses, and tubing. A small tank that had once held propane was turned into a backpack, and the nozzle of a firehose became the nozzle of a perfectly-functional flamethrower. I'd asked Khalid to start whipping up an incendiary fluid or gas that wouldn't kill me if I used it, and he'd promised to look into it while he was off retrieving more supplies.

  I wasn't quite sure what to make of our new friend. But at this point, I couldn't be choosy about allies. I strapped the flamethrower nozzle to my left gauntlet, entered the armor, and flexed my arm a few times. Dry firing had the expected results. The igniter clicked on when I tried it, and the tubes were secured well-enough that I could move without fear of rupturing them.

  I'd also borrowed a stun gun from one of the new arrivals, and rigged it to my right gauntlet. I hadn't been impressed by the relatively low voltage of it, so I'd patched it into the armor's core, and taken time to integrate it into the mask's command functionality. Now I could adjust the strength of it with a few whispered commands. That said, I'd have to be careful. Set it too high, and one shot would fry the stun gun's circuitry. But it was good to have a nonlethal option besides beanbag rounds or my bare hands, and it had been a simple thing to add. Besides, if I could get my hands on some higher capacity circuits, I could upgrade it without much trouble.

  Midway through the morning, I took a break for an early lunch and Abernathy found me. “Heya. Got any orders for me?”

  “Maybe.” I'd been giving some thought to the defense of the camp. “Think you can get up on that overpass?” I pointed at the elevated highway that rose above the western edge of the beach.

  “Don't see why not. Take some hiking, but that's fine. Oooh, wait, I could borrow Tim's bicycle. Yeah, that'd work. What do you need, boss?”

  “Check out the vehicles up there. They've been gridlocked for days, they look empty. Some of the people who were watching them said a lot of people left them behind after the first few hours of the traffic jam. See if there's any high-grade electric cars among them.”

  I'd learned that electric cars made up about 50% of inner-city traffic. They could draw upon the city's broadcast power for energy, which made them economical and fairly cheap in the grand scheme of things. The rest of them would be a mix... mostly hydrogen-fueled cars, with a few old-school diesel trucks among them for the heavy and long-range transports. Unfortunately, the widespread use of electric cars had resulted in a huge jam. Though most were equipped with batteries for emergency purposes, a lot were cheaply made, or had owners who didn't bother to keep them charged. Throw in the complete collapse of the traffic signal system, add in a little human stupidity, and shake well. No one had ever anticipated an outage on this scale, or one that continued for so long.

  Abernathy headed out, and I finished my lunch. Hot dogs, today. Someone had brought out a grill, and people were celebrating our victory with a cookout. I wasn't about to argue with them, even if the victory had come at a great cost. There was more trouble in the future, so I'd let people celebrate while they could.

  While I ate, I glanced toward the shoreline, and saw Minna sitting by herself. Odd. I looked around, located Anya playing with a group of other children. Some game that involved a lot of running and shoving and laughing. A little bit more searching found the young woman that Anya had rescued from the church watching over them. Ah, that explained it.

  I started heading toward Minna, with Roy's advice in mind. She looked up as I approached, and nodded as I sat down next to her. She'd chosen a spot on the pier near the spillpipe, where the snow hadn't stuck to the wood quite as much. It was cold but not too wet, in the grand scheme of things.

  Minna looked back out at the ocean, and I followed her gaze to the smear of ashes and charred wood slowly heading out into the bay.

  “You miss her,” I finally spoke.

  “Yes.”

  Another couple of minutes crawled by, and she looked to me again. “Who were you before this, Dire?”

  I shrugged.

  “She doesn't know. Doesn't remember.” I hiked my hair up, and showed her the sutures. They were starting to come out now, bit by bit. “Someone did this, and she doesn't know why.”

  Minna's eyes were wide, when I looked back at her.

  I offered a smile. “Who were you before this, Minna?”

  “A whore. Men came to my town, promised me a job. Not the one they gave me.” She looked over my shoulder, her eyes far away. “Sold me to rich men, who passed me around. And then I got pregnant.”

  “With Anya,” I said.

  “Yes. My... Owner? Pimp? I heard him say they would sell her. I killed him and left.”

  “How?”

  Her hand rose up, traced her scars. She smiled, and it was nothing but teeth. “Was not easy. After that I was stuck here. Not good English. No money. No friends. Hitchhiked, ran. Gave birth in an alley in New York. Was there some time. Had to kill another man. Came here. Eventually.”

  My own eyes were wide with horror at this point. “Could the authorities not help you? Get you back home?”

  She laughed, harsh and quick. It was the first time I'd ever heard her laugh, and it was an ugly thing without humor. “I was a slave whore for rich men. Rich men here control the authorities. What do you think would happen?”

  I frowned. “It should not be so.”

  She shrugged. “The men who traded me first run things back in my old town, too. I go back, I die. Or they take Anya. You know Vory y Zakone?”

  I shook my head no.

  She nodded. “You do not want to.”

  I was impressed that she hadn't died along the way already. That she'd stuck around here so long. Hell, maybe the only reason she hadn't moved on already was because she'd found a friend in Joan. She'd been inseparable from the older woman. Her respect and love for Joan was obvious to anyone with eyes. But now she was gone. I looked out to the ashen patch on the water.

  She followed my gaze, and shifted a bit. “She told me her sin, once.”

  “Her sin?” My voice sounded distant to my own ears.

  “Yes. We were drunk. Found some cans with beer left in them, it was a good night. But after the third beer, she started watching Anya and crying.”

  I opened my mouth, shut it again. “She did always seem nervous around Anya.”

  “All children, really.” Minna confirmed. “It is because she killed her own.”

  “What?” I snapped my head around to stare at her. “Ludicrous.”

  Minna spread her hands, staring out to sea. “She was young, stupid, she said. Had the thing, the thing where you feel so bad you cannot do anything. Where you think you are worthless.”

  “Depression?” I guessed.

  “Yes. That thing. One night the baby wouldn't stop crying. And she lose her temper. And she shake the baby.”

  I inhaled, sharply. The way she said it... “That's bad?”

  Minna looked at me, picked up a broken, rotted slat from the pier, and shook it until it snapped. I winced.

  “She go to prison. Get out after a few years. Can't face her family. Just walks out door one day. Ends up here.”

  “I would never have guessed,” I said.

  “She was the best woman I know.” Minna said. “Wanted to help everyone. Just didn't trust to be around children. She didn't trust her, yes?”

  “Didn't trust herself, you mean.”

  “Yes.” She threw the ends of the slats out into the water.

  We were silent for a while. After a bit, I got the sense that she was done talking. I nodded, got up, and left.

  “Dire,” she said, as I was walking away. I glanced over my shoulder. “Yes?”

  “When I die, you help Susan take care of Anya.”

  I opened my mouth, shut it again. And I simply nodded, before walking aw
ay. This time she didn't call after me.

  I found myself sitting back at my armor, looking it over. There wasn't much left to do, but I was reluctant to move on to the next phase of things. The discussion with Minna had been... heavy. I thought perhaps it had done her good, but there was no way to tell.

  Disturbed, I decided to see Roy's advice through and go talk with Martin. After a brief walk, I found him outside his tent. He appeared to be taking inventory.

  “Hey.” He nodded to me as I approached, and I waved back. “Look at this shit.” He pointed, and I traced the bullet-holes that seemed to riddle the northern side of the tent. “This. This is what I get for having a big-ass tent. People hide behind it and fuckin' Bloods lit it up like a goddamn Christmas tree.”

  “How inconsiderate,” I said, keeping my voice dry.

  “Speaking as one of the motherfuckers who was hiding behind it, eh. At least they were shitty shots.” He scowled as the flaps of the tent rustled, and Tooms emerged. He was dragging the television. It was holed by at least three shots, and left fragments of glass in its wake. “You want another tv?” He asked me. “Barely used, like new, comes with free bullets.”

  “Sure.” I smiled, trying to think of the best approach. “Got a minute to talk?”

  “Depends.” His face stilled, lost expression as he studied me. “This is about responsibility, isn't it? Holdin' me accountable for Tugs like I agreed.”

  I opened my mouth, and shut it again.

  That had completely slipped my mind.

  Did I hold him responsible?

  I studied the dark circles around his eyes. He hadn't slept a bit since last night, I'd wager. “No,” I decided. “You didn't know Tugs would get that stupid.”

  He took a breath, let it out. “I should've.” He rubbed his eyes, jammed his hand back into his pocket. “Fuckin' piece of shit junkie.”

  I decided that the simplest way was probably the best. “Who are you Martin? Who were you? Why are you here?”

  “Told you once that people don't ask that around here.”