Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

Hargrove bit down on a chuckle. He’d suspected Costa was naïve enough to go looking for that kind of answer. Or was there some other reason – a hope of picking his brains some more, or trying to? Arranging his face into solemn lines, he said, ‘We’ll have to ask, when we find them.’ The agent nodded, looking far from convinced.

  Chapter 5

  Union Station, Chicago

  Midnight

  He was standing in a clearing, ringed by dark evergreens. The air was dewy and cold, but the sun was chasing away the last of the rains torm. He looked down at himself. H e was in grey shorts and T-shirt, and barefoot. Both were soaked clean through. W ater was dripping off his arms and from his hair.

  ‘ Gregory? ’ He turned . A man’s form, dressed in a white lab coat, loomed out of the murk . His face was a drippi ng blur, with an edge of brown hair. He blinked once, and the man was inches from him – a ll he could see now was an expanse of white fabric. ‘ Come inside, Gregory, ’ the man said . The voice was calm, worldly, inviting. His hands appeared, holding a syringe in one and a trio of pills in the other. ‘ You’ll catch cold – and you need your medicine. ’

  No, he tried to say. I don’t wanna. I wanna stay outside. To his dismay, the wordssounded like a child’s– high-pitched, plaintive, pleading.

  The hands folded together. When they opened, the syringe and pills were gone, replaced by a strip of gr e y cloth. Holding it in both hands, the man moved closer. He tried to move, to run, but his legs wouldn’t obey. His vision went gr e y as the band fell across it , then faded to black.

  He was in another place, lying on his back on a slab of cold metal . His head, chest, arms and legs were held down by cloth straps . H e jerked against them, but they didn’t yield. The walls around him were a dazzling pure white, with soft light shining down. He could hear the fai n t beeping of machines , and thought he could see screens of s ome sort to either side . Human fig ures moved in and out of sight – ghostly white suits, without faces.

  One of them approached from his right, a syringe at the ready. He quailed. Please, he said silently.His voice was deeper, but brokelike a teenager’s. Please, no more. What is all this for? Then the syringe slipped into his arm, and black slid over his eyes again.

  He was lying on his side, on soft padding. His body was free, but aching horribly: in his bones, his muscles, his skin. Even a twitch brought sharp, stabbing pain allover. The room was pitch-dark, but he couldjustmake outanother, childlike form, lying on a pad a few feet in front ofhim. There was soft sobbing, coming from here and there.Asoothingvoice– a woman’s voice– was singing tenderly, somewhere above him:

  ‘ Sleep, my child and peace attend thee,

  All through the night

  Guardian angels God will send thee,

  All through the night

  Soft the drowsy hours are creeping

  Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,

  I my loving vigil keeping

  All through the night. ’

  He longed to raise his arms, to reach out to the voice . It was hopeless; the pain was too great. The moaning around him worsened; perhaps the others yearned for the same.

  A shaft of harsh light fell across his spot. He angled his eyes toward it,bringingspikes of agony at his temples. Another white figure appeared,face hidden by opaque, gleaming metal. Behind it stood two others, in the same attire. Squinting, he could see the wheels of a gurney behind them. They began to approach, pulling the gurney in. He tried to curl up, to moan, to hide– to do anything. But his arms were locked, and his legs. They came closer, hands outstretched…

  *

  Greg sat up, breathing in hard, short gasps. A light sheen of sweat coated him, absorbed fast by the clinger. He wiped his face, then twisted in his seat, gazing up and down the aisle. No sign of their fellow traveller. A quick glance at Leah: she was leaning against the window, eyes closed. The bag was tucked in the crook of her left arm. Her right was cocked beneath her, in just the right position for the blade to drop into a waiting hand.

  Nice to know somebody’s on the job, he thought, in self-reproach. The ‘meditation’ tricks he’d had drilled into him should’ve lasted longer, allowing him to rest while staying awake. Most of his generation could last a full forty-eight hours without sleep and still stay alert; some for seventy-two. Maybe the constant movement and adrenaline ever since their departure from out West had taken more of a toll than he thought.

  He leaned carefully over her, straining to see out the window. They were inside the city limits, but despite his well-adapted eyes, the late-night darkness, combined with the carpet of urban lights, made it near impossible to spot any landmarks, much less the approaching station. He sat back, shaking his head a little to clear the last of the sluggishness. Haven’t had any of the dreams sincea little before we started out. The night we decided, in fact. He still had only guesses about them: childhood fears, old memories from training, a mix of both, or something totally different. He shook his head again. Doesn’t matter. Can’t havethemdistractingme now.

  The brakes began to grind. He turned to shake Leah awake, only to find her already sitting up, eyes clear and coat unbuttoned. She looked carefully about the cabin, toward the front and rear doors. ‘Any sign of our friend?’ she whispered.

  Greg shook his head, deciding not to let her know about his dozing off. ‘Not for the whole trip. If he is tailing us, he’ll wait to make a move until we’re clear of the train, probably even outside the station. Too many chances for us to slip away in the crowds – and for collateral damage, if he goes loud.’

  ‘Well, then.’ Leah reached beneath her shirt, grasping the butt of her pistol.

  Greg grabbed her wrist. ‘Not yet.’ At her questioning look, he said, ‘Security might be lax in some areas due to overstretch, but Union Station isn’t bound to be one of them. We’ll wait to make any moves until we’re past the cordon. And I’m fairly sure our fellow traveller plans on the same.’

  Looking doubtful, Leah removed her hand. The train decelerated further. The car’s loudspeaker crackled, and then the driver’s voice announced, softly, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are approximately one minute away from our final stop at Platform 10, Union Station. Due to the heightened threat level at this time, I must inform you all that—’

  Greg ignored this, and stood up, slinging the bag’s strap over his head. Around him, the few passengers in the car were getting up as well, pulling their bags from beneath seats or from the overheads. Most of the seats had emptied the closer they came to the perimeter of the Martial Law Zone covering nearly all of northeastern Illinois. Other than the Eastern Seaboard, there was no place more patrolled or observed in the states east of the Mississippi – hence their plan to be on the way to Milwaukee in no more than an hour. No chance for the trains anymore, though; buses are too easy to stop, too. We’ll need a car, one which won’t be missed for a while or draw more than a cursory glance on a police report.

  He turned to face the rear door. Leah was standing a pace behind him, bag in hand. As the train inched toward the platform, she muttered, ‘Straight off the platform, and up to Adams Street?’ Greg dipped his head. ‘And if blocked, then the Great Hall and Clinton exit?’ He nodded again. ‘Then?’

  ‘Then we keep moving,’ he whispered back. ‘We find a lot, minimum of six blocks from the station, grab a car, and get out of the city by the best route available.’ He tapped Leah’s left sleeve. She tapped back in acknowledgement. The train came to a complete stop with a loud, chuffing wheeze. The doors at both ends of the car opened, as did the exits just beyond them to both sides. Silently drawing in breath, he started forward.

  Out of nowhere, a figure in blue and red conductor’s uniform stepped forward to block their path. Greg tensed, but the other man just smiled. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait a little longer. There’s a group of soldiers disembarking, and we’ve been told to keep all civilian travellers aboard the cars until they’ve been deployed.’

  ‘I see.’ Casually,
Greg let his free hand drift to his belt, close to his holster. ‘Any idea why they’re deploying here?’

  The conductor shrugged. ‘Word on the wire is the threat level was being raised for today, at this site only; most likely it’s a drill, or a false alarm. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, then you’ll all be allowed to disembark.’ He moved back a little, half-closing the door in front of him.

  ‘Thanks.’ Stepping back a pace, Greg leaned up against the nearest seat and crossed his arms, as if he were mildly impatient but accommodating. Catching Leah’s eye, he twitched his chin imperceptibly, toward the window. Check.

  Nonchalantly, she bent over and began feeling around the seats, like any traveller looking for lost keys or a wallet. After a few seconds, she straightened and moved to stand next to him. Her right hand opened and closed rapidly, five times: Twenty-five. That accounted for all the soldiers they’d seen in Washington. He made a C with his left hand: Combat ready? His teeth gritted at her tiny nod. His hand shaped into a pistol. The tail? She gave back a minute shrug; no sign. Which could mean that there really is a drill or other alert in play. But what are the odds that a tail latches on in D.C., and two squads get pulled off assignment to guard our exit?

  For maybe five minutes, Greg, Leah and the other half-dozen passengers in their car sat or stood where they were. A few of their fellow travellers were muttering to each other or into phones, complaining about the hold-up. They just stared at the door, or into space. Finally, the conductor stepped back inside. ‘All right everyone, I’m told we can begin disembarking. If you’ll please move in an orderly fashion—’

  Greg and Leah were the first in line, but they allowed a few of the others to fall in ahead of them. No point making it obvious they wanted off. The cavernous platform area was brightly lit and filled with noise: the hissing and clacking of trains, and a steadily milling crowd of arrivals and departures, their voices mingling into a discordant mass.

  Stepping down first, Greg looked back and forth down the crowded walkway. A few Amtrak security men were mixed into the crowd, but there was no sign of soldiers or other security – or the Brown Coat. He let his left hand fall and twitched his two main fingers sharply: Follow. Close. A brush against his left shoulder indicated Leah’s assent.

  They moved toward the north end, staying in the thickest part of the crowds. When they had gone maybe twenty feet, Greg slowed his pace, grabbing Leah’s arm with two fingers. Three soldiers stood at the base of the escalators, assault rifles at the ready. His eyes flicked to the elevator: two more in position, relaxed yet prepared. The others were probably deployed to the other exits or waiting for them outside.

  Keeping up the steady stride, he angled to the left, so that he faced the baggage claim. A good chunk of the crowd was heading in that direction, so they still had some cover. Leah moved closer to his side. Donning a smile, he looked her way, gesturing with his free hand as he muttered, ‘Keep left, then left again, straight through the Hall to the street.’

  She nodded, her smile belied by the intense gleam in her eye. ‘Anybody following?’

  Greg glanced at the wall to their left, which was plated with silvery metal. The camo-clad men weren’t moving, but there was one blurry shape, maybe twenty yards behind them –

  He stiffened, but stayed in motion. ‘What?’ Leah asked, keeping up the false cheer.

  ‘Brown Coat, closing fast.’ Her hand tightened on his arm. The crowds had thinned around them; only a couple dozen other travellers were in sight, wandering or standing in small groups. They were within sight of the Great Hall. No cops or soldiers milled at the entrance, or at least none that he could see. Greg risked a glance back. The Brown Coat was striding towards them, gliding easily through the crowd with unusual grace. He looked to Leah. ‘If he gets within ten paces, we go flat-out for the door. If—’

  A sharp stabbing pain struck his left side, above the waist. He flinched, his stride faltering. He grabbed at the afflicted spot – and felt a tiny metal dart, pierced clean through the clothes and clinger suit.

  Leah clenched his sleeve with both hands. ‘Greg? What’s wrong?’

  Fighting to keep his pace and breathing steady, Greg yanked the dart out. Leah’s eyes widened. A cold numbness was beginning to spread, over his pelvis and down toward his hip. ‘Left-hand door,’ he ground out. ‘Just keep moving.’

  Before she could respond, Leah flinched and gasped. Halting, she reached up to her left shoulder. She stiffened. ‘Oh, shit.’

  Without a second’s thought, she wrapped her free arm around Greg’s, and broke into a brisk trot. Even as they moved, he could see her whole left side was already starting to loosen and droop, as if she’d had a stroke, or been given a muscle relaxant or sedative. Tranquiliser?Stun round?Paralysing agent? They were supposed to be immune to all three, and more; plenty of experience had proved it. What the hell is this?

  They were at the exit inside thirty seconds, drawing a few puzzled glances from other travellers along the way. Better that than bullets, Greg thought sluggishly. Speaking of – Looking behind, he saw Brown Coat, roughly fifteen feet away. A tiny pistol of unknown make was just visible beneath the right cuff of his coat.

  He and Leah put both shoulders to the door. It took all his effort – and hers – to keep from doing a face plant on the street outside.

  The night air was frigid. Only a handful of street and building lights were lit, casting the sidewalks and surrounding edifices in deep shadow.

  Breathing hard, Leah pulled herself fully upright, still clinging to him. ‘What now?’ she gasped.

  Greg looked about desperately. The buildings all around them were high-rise offices, most looking empty and neglected. No checkpoints or sandbag nests at any of the corners. Then he turned his gaze southward and beheld a massive layered pile of white concrete: a parking garage. He fought to raise his right hand; the numbness had reached his entire chest, and his upper legs. ‘There. Inside.’

  They hobbled and stumped down the street, like three-legged racers. Few passers-by were on the street, most not even bothering to glance their way. In the far distance, Greg thought he could hear sirens, and the sound of a loudspeaker voice. Probablysealing off the block,under the whole ‘drill’excuse. Gives our friend a better sightline. He cast another frantic look over his shoulder. Brown Coat was emerging from the door, gun now in plain sight.

  They were nearing the ramp for the fenced-off outdoor lot when the numbness suddenly seemed to slow. Surprised, Greg flexed his left arm. The feeling was coming back, sloughing off as though he were pulling the limb out of ice water. From her mystified look, Leah was experiencing the same change. Heart hammering, he pulled her even closer, leaning heavily against her shoulder. ‘Keep like this,’ he whispered. She nodded, exaggerating her limp.

  The main driveway into the garage loomed to their left. Both security booths were empty: another lucky break. Nearly tripping over every other step, Greg pulled Leah through the entryway, moving toward a couple of empty lots just inside; she mimicked his pace. The numbness was almost gone from his legs now, and his chest. Perfect timing.

  When they were out of sight from the sidewalk, Leah released her grip, and shook out her limbs. She pulled off her coat and shirt one-handed. The clinger suit shone dully in the light from outside. Wordlessly, she put a hand to her pistol and knife. He pointed to the latter. Can’t risk drawing more attention. Leah smirked, and yanked the blade free. He did the same, and motioned for her to move behind the nearest car across from them, a battered blue sedan. When she had done so, he locked gazes with her, put a finger to his lips – and dropped to the ground, going limp with the bag underneath him, knife clenched in an outstretched hand.

  Leah’s mouth opened in shock. Before she could speak, the sound of approaching footsteps reached them. She dropped farther back behind the car, knife ready. Greg held himself still, as the steps came closer. Come on. Come on.

  The first thing he saw was a boot: Army-issue, brown and batt
ered. Then a pair of legs, clad in khaki trousers. He kept his eyes staring into the distance, breathing in short and tiny gasps. If Brown Coat thought the trank or whatever was still working, he’d probably expect him to be still breathing, but also immobilised.

  The boots came to a halt, a few paces away. He heard a faint grunt, of either satisfaction or surprise. Letting his eyes dart up, he beheld the man’s face. Blocky features, with dark green, strangely blank eyes behind the silver specs. Mottled white-red scars on his neck stood out garishly in the overhead lights. His chest bulged against the white shirt he wore – either body armour, or Herculean muscle. The man raised his hand, bringing the pistol to bear on Greg’s face.

  Greg snapped to his feet, knife slashing at the extended arm. The coat sleeve parted, spurting blood. Brown Coat grunted again, the pistol falling from his hand – but sprang back with the same speed and agility. Greg advanced, slashing left-to-right, and back again. The other man ducked the cuts and back-flipped out of reach, toward the driveway. Coming to an abrupt halt, he whipped both arms out to either side. Two paper-thin blades, almost as long as his forearms, dropped from his sleeves, the hilts sliding into his hands.

  Before Greg could do more than blink, Brown Coat charged, whipping both knives in front of him. He ducked low to avoid a slash to the face, then had to roll to one side to keep from taking another in the guts. Coming to one knee, he swiped at the man’s legs. With a dancer’s grace, Brown Coat crouched and leapt, so that the knife slashed only air, and swung his left fist down at Greg’s head.

  The impact knocked him flat on his face, almost shattering his jaw on impact. The knife skidded across the pavement. His head and ears rang shrilly. Gasping in pain and blinking blood from his eyes, he looked up to see Brown Coat standing above him, both blades raised in a scything swing. He groped for the pistol, but his hands were wobbly.

  Suddenly Brown Coat jerked and grunted. Twisting around, he swung the blades at the air behind him, hacking and slashing. Clumsily, Greg rolled out of reach. He forced himself upright, and managed to draw his pistol, clasping it with both hands. Vision refocused, he saw Leah leaping back and around Brown Coat’s attacks with gymnastic skill. Her knife protruded from the attacker’s back, buried to the hilt almost centre on his spinal column. He should’ve been paralysed – dead, even, if the blade passed through to his heart. Greg hefted the pistol, searching for a clear shot.