by S. S. Segran
Jag curled his lip in disgust. “You’re a coward who didn’t face up to what he did.”
The man hesitated before dipping his head. “That is true. I allowed myself to touch the darkness instead of fending it off, and it consumed me. I can only assume binding myself with the black crystal amplified it.”
“Is that the excuse you’re going with?”
“Be careful what you say, boy.”
“The crystal that was put into you—you don’t just randomly ask for that, even when you’re supposedly out of your mind. It couldn’t have come from nowhere. You must have been thinking about immortality. Obsessively. And now you’re claiming insanity to wash your guilt.”
A terrible fire burned in the old man’s eyes. It ripped away his civility, and a thunderstorm flashed across his face, mottling his skin.
Then, as if a switch had been flicked off, the rage dissipated. He sank back against the bench. “Perhaps there is some truth in what you say. Death was on my mind almost every day in one manner or another; either the ideation of my own demise, or the recollection of my family and the rest of my kin that did not make it out alive from the devastation of our island. But it was more than that. I’d fantasize that my loved ones were still around. For nearly eight years, I could not accept they were figments of my imagination that I saw and spoke to. The interplay between life and death blurred. So no, I was not obsessed with immortality, but something in my head tangled all the knowledge and experiences I had, and I suppose that was what I latched onto that night when I lost myself.”
“You still ran like a coward,” Jag pointed out icily.
“You’re right. I did. And after long years of hollow existence after I left Dema-Ki, I resolved to expiate my wrongs. I searched for ways to make the world a better place. It was, truly, the least I could do to attempt atonement for my sins. I tried so long and hard but nothing worked. I grew desperate. There was power in me to change the course of humanity and I believed I could do it. Earth begged for a new captain, a strong captain, to take the helm from its war-hungry, wealth-chasing elites. The emperors and monarchs and other rulers—many of them merely repeated the same destructive cycles. Yes, a handful genuinely strived to make a meaningful difference, but they were bound by the constricting systems in place. I realized after a while that it was beyond my capabilities to fix the world. What was needed was a reset. To rebuild anew. And that is what I’ve spent the last century preparing for.”
Jag rubbed his thumb and forefinger together for a time, digesting everything. With a shake of his head, he said, “I’m still not changing my mind about you.”
“And I’m not here to convince you. You wanted to know more about me, I complied. Some gratitude might be in order.”
Jag, unamused, shook one of his tied wrists against its constraint in argument, making the metal bits jingle.
The man smirked. “Alright, good point.” He tilted his head up, gazing at the sky as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “You are not like those of Dema-Ki heritage, yet neither are you like the rest of the population. Why, then, are you supposedly more powerful? Why did the prophecy, according to the Elders, choose you and your friends?”
“Heck if I know,” Jag said. “Wasn’t what we’d had planned for our futures, I’ll say that much. But it is what it is.”
“I hope we can find out soon,” the man murmured, “before we truly pass the point of no return.”
Something about the way he said that chilled Jag deep in his bones. “What exactly has been happening to the world?”
A rueful smile crossed the man’s lips. “I think it’s time to take you back to the CUBE.”
“No, hold on! You have to tell me what—”
But the man was already on his feet, humming a peculiar tune to himself as he gripped the handles of the wheelchair and started down the hill. As they neared the bottom, he stopped. “I almost forgot. You said it wasn’t fair that I know your name but you do not know mine.”
Jag groaned. “I really don’t care about that right now. I just want—”
“My name is Mokun. I am Reyor’s mentor, yes. But I am also her ancestor by direct blood lineage.”
At this point, Jag’s thoughts were a mess and he gave up trying to unravel them. He turned his attention outward. He hated being stuck in a never-ending cycle of physical and verbal prodding and examination, though at least now he had a better idea of the layout above the Sanctuary: it was an island. But so what? There was no way for him to relay that information to anyone. His abilities had been curbed, leaving him without a means to free himself, especially not after his first—and presumably last—attempt to escape.
He glanced up at the man, running through every interaction they’d had since his capture. He’s obviously on the fence. He could be turned around. Problem is, after everything I’ve told him again and again, he’s still not budging. What can I do to tip the scales?
He’d been asking himself that question for probably weeks but hadn’t come up with anything new. And I thought getting a bum leg in Israel made me useless. Look at me now. Pathetic.
The fact that he was failing to make any headway gnawed at his mind, and it pained him to remember how alone he was. He needed his friends. They gave him strength, and he was certain that, together, they would have already found a solution to all the troubles he faced in the Heart.
As Mokun rolled him through the Sanctuary entrance, Jag said a silent goodbye to the brief reprieve he’d been granted and braced himself for more weeks of torturous examinations and isolation.
The late afternoon fog parted slowly, revealing more of Shanghai as a large container ship plied the Yangtze river. On the vessel’s bridge wing, Tony was wrapped in a warm winter coat, a beanie pulled low to cover his ears. He whistled at the sight of the futuristic skyline, a small trail of clouded breath following the sound.
Hajjar stepped out of the bridge and ambled over, handing Tony a thermos of hot coffee and keeping a second one for himself. The hulk of a man beamed at the city to their left; clad in a giant parka, he reminded Tony of a giddy, overgrown child—if that child could snap your neck without hesitation.
“Something, isn’t it?” Hajjar said. “I still remember this place. Had an assignment here years ago.”
Tony uncapped the thermos, shoving his nose over the deliciously scented steam that escaped with masked delight. “Was this before or after Phoenix recruited you?”
“Before.”
“Ah. So at that time, you had two functioning eyes and were just a little less ugly. Bet your mother still couldn’t look at you.”
Hajjar sneered. “At that time, you were probably still getting your head shoved in toilets.”
“Ooh, amazing comeback. I’m in agony.”
Hajjar visibly refrained from rolling his eyes. He jerked his chin at the workers milling around on the deck below them. “It’s incredible what money can buy. Tell them we’re hauling aid supplies but they’re not allowed to check inside, toss in a few big ones, and you’ve got a good little crew to help you with the dirty work. Not just these guys, either, but port authority and customs too.”
“The Boss has deep pockets,” Tony said. “Not to mention, the organization has an insanely wide reach.”
Carefully holding his thermos in one hand, Hajjar unzipped his jacket with the other and produced a military-grade tablet from an inner pocket. He balanced it on the slanted railing and turned it on. Tony peered around his massive arm. “Watch those fat fingers. One tap and you’d be sending the signal too early.”
“How about you shut your mouth before I jam my fist through it?” Hajjar took a sip of his drink and smacked his lips. “Alright, let’s see where we’re at.”
The green-and-black digital world map on the screen was pin-pricked with a few red dots and a mass of blue ones. The reds moved on oceans, while the blues remained fixed along coastlines on every continent.
“Looks like most of the other ships have already
docked.” Hajjar looked over the side of the railing at the stacks upon stacks of colored shipping containers. With affection, he rumbled, “It’s almost time to play, little ones.”
“That’s just creepy,” Tony muttered. “Who talks to those things like that? Even I don’t. And we still have to wait several more hours before they can be activated, so hold off on the baby talk for now. Or forever.”
Hajjar shrugged off the comment. “Can’t blame me for wanting to see these new things in action.” He slid the tablet back into his jacket and yanked up the zipper as an icy gust blew toward them. “I was doing the math before coming out here. Including this one, we’ve got a hundred ships out there carrying ten thousand Scourgers each, on their way to the busiest ports all over the world or already in place. That’s one million of these beautiful bastards that are going to be deployed.”
I’m all in for cleansing and restarting civilization, Tony thought, but this guy’s a sadist. I hope the Boss won’t keep him around once we’re all done up here. He’s the last person I’d want to be trapped in a Sanctuary with for years.
But he kept his musings to himself. “Bravo, you can do third grade math. What’s your point?”
“I’m not finished,” Hajjar growled. “With six and a half billion people left worldwide, that means the Scourgers will get six thousand each. But—”
“How about you just stay away from math? This is the first wave of three, Elias. They’ll come from the seas and the oceans to take care of metropolitans. The next tranche will be released from mainland sites once people try to run for the rural areas, and the final group after that will get rid of stragglers. Each round should handle a third of the population. The virus has already wiped out over a billion people on its own and the number will keep rising, but because of those damn kids and the cure, it won’t increase exponentially anymore.”
Hajjar scratched his forehead. “Did I miss that meeting?”
“No, you absolute moron. You were there, but when they started talking logistics you zoned out. You really are all brawn, no brain.”
Hajjar’s gargantuan palm came down on the back of Tony’s neck like a barbell. Tony fell against the railing, thermos flying out of his grip and onto the deck below.
Then the giant’s face was by his ear, voice low in warning. “Watch it, brat. Just because I work under you doesn’t mean you get to wag that tongue all you want. You may be one of the Boss’s favorite pets, but I’ve been here much longer. Show some respect.”
Tony could have easily flipped Hajjar over the railing and sent him following his coffee’s trajectory, but he reminded himself that he had only recently gotten back into his superior’s good books. The last thing he needed was to knock himself down the ladder again purely to appease his ego.
Locking eyes with the bigger man, he reached behind him, grabbed Hajjar’s hand, and peeled the meaty fingers backward. Hajjar’s dark eyes widened.
“You’d like to hang onto your fingers, wouldn’t you?” Tony whispered. He bent the digits further, feeling the strain and pressing on, watching with satisfaction at the mounting horror on the giant’s face. “Then keep them off me, because I’m sure the Boss won’t mind my disciplining a subordinate. And yours wouldn’t be the first fingers I’ve taken.”
He let go. Without another word, Hajjar stormed back into the bridge. Tony lifted his head, taking a few breaths. He never learns. It isn’t wise to go up against someone who’s trained in proper combat disciplines. He gazed out at the hundreds of containers before him with a smile. Not long now.
He looked out at the ship’s stern. A couple of miles behind, an identical vessel followed in the first one’s wake.
And there’s the icing on this scrumptious cake, he thought. Once those are released, the world is going to beg to deal with just the Scourgers. It should be a sight to behold. After a moment, he snorted. Maybe I’m no better than Elias after all.
“We should have brought towels.”
Marshall chortled at the absurdity of Nadia’s statement. He removed his shirt and wrung it out, taking in the coconut trees and mangroves around them. “If we knew that we’d be doing any swimming, I think we would have packed more essential things.”
Nadia shook salt from her hair and clothes. “This was a smart idea, using a waterproof backpack to carry the cure.”
“After falling into the Nile, I’m convinced it’s one of humanity’s greatest inventions.”
“Mm. By the way, you swim fast. It’s frightening. What is your ability called?”
“Aquatic respiration,” Marshall answered. “Plus side is that it enhances my movements underwater. I hope the ride wasn’t too hard on you.”
Nadia exhaled loudly through her nose, amused. “You were doing twenty knots to keep up with the boat while I hung on like a cape. My arms are dead, Marshall.”
He pulled his shirt back on. “Sorry about that. Want me to carry your bag?”
She tossed it to him. He slung it over his shoulder and swept his hand out. “Shall we?”
They plodded past a wooden dock where the speedboat was secured, tracking footprints in the sand into what looked like thick woodland. As far as Marshall could tell, the isolated island was small, probably less than a thousand feet in either direction.
It didn’t take long for the trees to give way to a circular glade. A single-story concrete building with a bonnet roof took up most of the clearing. A line of rectangular skylights had been fitted between the roof’s lower and upper slopes. Corrugated aluminum roof panels glinted under the tropical sun. Two men, each armed with a rifle and a handgun, stood guard outside the entrance. The Sentries ducked behind a bush.
“This is completely normal,” Nadia remarked.
“I count three CCTV cameras,” Marshall said. “Got any peanut butter on you?”
She unzipped a small side pocket of her bag to produce a miniature tub of pink Vaseline. He took it and read the label, then glanced at her.
“It keeps your lips soft no matter where you are,” she said with a shrug. “And it came free with a pack of cotton buds.”
“Cotton buds?”
“The things you use to clean your ears.”
“Ah. We call them Q-Tips back in the States.”
“What does the ‘Q’ stand for?”
Marshall’s brain jammed. “Uh.”
Nadia grinned. “We can find out later. Are you ready?”
“Let’s do this, Madam Light-bender.”
She focused on him until he disappeared. With quick steps, he trotted out to the nearest camera, stretching up to smear a blob of Vaseline over the lens. He repeated the tactic with the other cameras. With Nadia’s ability, he could very well have danced his way around the site in a grass skirt and the guards would have been none the wiser. He almost felt sorry for having the advantage of invisibility. No matter how prepared you were, fighting an unseen opponent usually guaranteed a humiliating loss.
He strolled up and grabbed one of the men in a chokehold until he passed out. The other guard, utterly confounded by what was happening, tried to help his comrade but Marshall reached for the first man’s handgun and pistol-whipped the second on the head. He swiped a keycard and a radio, then dragged the guards into the trees where Nadia was waiting.
“I won’t be able to hide you when you get inside,” she said.
“Maybe we should climb up to the roof and take a look first,” he suggested. “And find out who’s running this outfit.”
“What about the card you took? Any labels or signs?”
“No. There’s nothing printed on it.”
“And what about these two? They’ll wake up soon.”
Marshall looked down at the unconscious men, mulling over the conundrum, then started removing their boots. “Sit them up with their knees to their chest, tie their wrists to their ankles with their belts, and take one of their socks to put in their mouths.”
Nadia stared at him for a moment before following his lead. When they were
done tying and gagging the guards, they loped toward the building and circled it, searching for a way to get onto the roof that was only just out of reach. They found a stack of discarded crates at the back and stacked them against the wall.
As Nadia got ready to climb, the radio Marshall had taken from the guard came to life with a crackle and a woman’s Brooklyn-accented voice. “Northern perimeter check complete. All quiet.”
“Ten-four,” a second voice answered. “Western perimeter is quiet too.”
When no other guard responded, Nadia whispered, “Should we reply since we have one of their radios?
Marshall clicked the radio and held down the talk button for a few seconds before releasing it. Here’s hoping the old static trick works, he thought.
Once they’d climbed onto the lower slope of the roof, they had a good view of the surrounding vegetation but the trees were tightly packed, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in. There was no way to keep watch for approaching danger until it was too late.
“They probably have four guys out here, minimum,” Marshall said, “including the two new friends we made.”
“And a couple more in there.” Nadia had already peeked into one of the windows overlooking a small pantry where a pair of guards sat in chairs with their feet kicked up on a tabletop, munching on sandwiches. The Sentries shuffled right, keeping their heads low so their shadows wouldn’t be cast into the building.
