From the hastily cobbled-together signs some of the men and women in front of the building were holding, Scott figured the crowd was composed of xenos looking for protection – and answers. Then he saw a familiar xenograft, a Mohawk of ragged feathers down the middle of a bald head. It was Chief Joe, standing next to his girlfriend Liz. Both were members of the XBestia gang, and neither had any business being here if the crowd was indeed what it seemed.
When Lo drove past, several of the protesters broke from the pack and followed the car around the corner to the parking garage entrance. Scott was glad for the dark tint on the sedan’s windows when he saw Chief Joe and Liz among them.
In order to gain entrance to the parking garage, Lo would have to roll down her window and hold her hand under a holoscanner, but the xenos were suddenly all around them. Lo inched the car forward to avoid running over anyone as they shouted, shook their fists and banged on the hood and windows. Scott kept his head down and his hands out of sight.
There was no police presence, of course, and the one security guard behind the gate was unprepared to handle the situation. He shook his head to indicate he wasn’t opening the gate, then held a hand up to his head to show them he’d called for backup.
Several tense minutes later, two armed guards arrived, dressed in tactical gear. One of them shouted a warning before lobbing a tear gas grenade over the fence. The crowd scattered to a safe distance as Lo drove through the gate and checked in with the guard. She parked in the underground lot on the nearly empty first floor.
They still hadn’t heard from Shasta, so Scott talked it over briefly with Lo and they decided to put Nicola and Savvy in separate interview rooms for the time being. Technically, Savvy was being detained for questioning and would have had a date with an interview room anyway, but Nicola was a juvenile runaway. They wouldn’t be able to hold her long before they had to turn her over to Children’s Services – unless, as he suspected would happen, Shasta made her a protected witness.
Scott got out of the car and let Savvy and Nicola out. They all headed for the elevator, but before they got there, it opened and three of the XIA techs, who normally never left the control room, hurried to intercept them.
“Hold on,” one of them said, panting a little as if trotting across the parking lot was too much for him. He was pale and flabby with thinning brown hair. Scott caught a glimpse of his ID badge: Bob.
“We got a loud ping when you drove in,” Bob said.
Scott didn’t know what that meant exactly, but he looked at Savvy, who as usual wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s in the backpack?”
Savvy tightened his fingers around the straps. “My stuff.”
“We’re going to have to confiscate it,” Bob said.
“No.” Savvy took a step back, as if he was prepared to run away to keep them from taking it.
Nicola, who had her arms wrapped around the covered bird cage, said, “Felson, just let them have it, okay? You’ll get it back.”
“I highly doubt that,” Savvy replied, but he removed the backpack from his narrow shoulders and handed it to Bob.
Bob gestured to the bird cage. “That, too.”
Nicola gasped and turned to Scott with pleading eyes. “Don’t take Perky.”
“Nobody’s going to hurt him,” Scott said.
“Her.” Nicola sniffed like she was about to cry, but reluctantly held the cage out to one of the techs. He took it by the handle and Nicola said, “Careful! Hold it level or you’ll spill her water all over the paper.”
Bob frowned at her, lifted the cover to look inside and was immediately rewarded with an indignant, ear-piercing chirp. He gave Nicola an unreadable look, then turned and waved for the other techs to follow him. As they headed for the elevator, he unzipped Savvy’s backpack and looked inside, saying, “Test everything for everything. Standalone equipment only.”
Nicola sniffed again and glowered at Scott. “Are you happy now?”
Scott wasn’t, actually. He and Lo hadn’t bothered to frisk Savvy back at the Warehouse, and there was a distinct possibility that whatever the tech guys thought had set off their alarms was still on him. He caught Lo’s eye and jerked his head in the direction of the door that led to the main lobby. She lifted her eyebrows in silent inquiry, and he said simply, “Scanner.” She nodded and waved for Nicola and Savvy to precede her.
Nicola turned to Savvy and asked, “What was that all about?”
“They want to scan us for weapons.”
“Oh.” Nicola pouted, but said nothing further.
There was only one guard in the main lobby, which made sense, since the other two had just dispersed the crowd so Lo could drive in. The guard greeted them with, “And I thought today was going to be boring with the building shut down.”
Scott looked out at the crowd, which seemed to have grown significantly in the last few minutes alone. He saw Chief Joe and Liz again, but they couldn’t see him – the windows and glass doors making up the entire exterior wall of the main floor were coated with a reflective surface.
After their guests went through the body scanner without raising any alarms, Scott and Lo took them upstairs. The receptionist buzzed them in to a nearly deserted office. There were only a few administrative staff members in sight, and they were all on the phone, keeping the communication lines open. Scott assumed the other agents and handlers were either out in the field or unable to do their jobs due to the state of the city.
Lo went off to find Savvy and Nicola something to eat while Scott processed them, obtaining holoprints and running their DNA. By the time the two were settled in their respective interview rooms, it was after noon.
The minute Scott got back to his cubicle and sat down in his office chair, he texted Shasta again, letting her know they’d arrived and that the techs were going over Savvy’s ‘stuff.’ Then he attempted to call Mia, grinding his teeth in frustration when she didn’t answer. Finally, he called Carla.
Bryn’s godmother answered on the first ring. She wasn’t home, if the noisy crowd of people in the background of the holo was any indication.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Poppy’s Pier. How’s Bryn?”
“I was hoping you’d heard from her. Why are you at Poppy’s Pier? It’s condemned, isn’t it?”
“Don’t you know? The National Guard is rounding us up. Xenos.”
“You’re kidding. How do they know who to round up?”
Carla’s xeno name was ‘Mouse,’ after her old xenograft. After it had been forcibly removed by an ARA operative, she’d had another one grafted on. It was located in the same place, on the curve of her breast, but wasn’t normally visible.
She wrinkled her nose. “They have a list of people who’ve gotten transplants, and they’re sweeping xeno neighborhoods for the rest of us. One of my neighbors ratted me out. When the guardsmen showed up, I was given the choice of showing them my graft or being treated to a strip search. So I showed them.”
“That’s—”
“Barbaric? Just a sign of the times, sweetie. Besides, I’m actually kinda glad to be here. My neighborhood’s a war zone and at least here I’m safe.”
Scott had seen for himself how badly her neighborhood had been hit by the rioters when he’d picked up Bryn’s clothes that morning. He’d invited Carla to stay at his place, but after what happened to Bryn and Mia, it was probably best that she’d refused. Not that being threatened with a strip search and detained by the National Guard sounded like a better option. And Poppy’s Pier…what made them choose that place?
Back in 2020, an unprecedented storm surge from hurricane Poppy critically damaged the already deteriorated infrastructure of Pier 40 on the Hudson. The fifteen-acre pier, part of Hudson River Park, was shut down until a funding source to repair it could be identified. Unfortunately, by the time an amendment to the Hudson River Park Act had been agreed upon, the cost to repair the damage exceeded any potential returns on the investment, and a commercial sourc
e of revenue couldn’t be found. The pier remained officially closed to the public for their safety.
Poppy’s Pier, as it came to be known, was a huge, square structure jutting out over the Hudson River with a former soccer field at its center, surrounded by a multistory building and parking lot in various stages of collapse. Because of its proximity to Lower Manhattan, local law enforcement swept the pier regularly, preventing gangs from taking over like they had at Coney Island, but the pier was still a dangerous place.
“Do me a favor,” he said. “Stay close to an exit. If things get dicey, I don’t want you to get trampled.”
“That’s sweet of you to worry, but I can take of myself.”
He believed her. Carla was a survivor. “Tell Bryn to call me if you hear from her, okay?”
“Shouldn’t she be at your place?”
“Yeah, but it turned out my place wasn’t safe either.”
“Great. Now you got me worried. Will you call if you hear from her first?”
“If I get a chance. Lot going on.”
“Tell me about it.”
After he disconnected, he sat and stared unseeing at his cubicle walls, heightened anxiety and a sense of lingering regret burning a hole in his gut. He’d told Bryn he loved her last night…after she’d fallen asleep. He didn’t regret saying it, he just wished he’d been brave enough to tell her when she could respond back one way or the other.
“Heard you caught a big fish.”
It was Jason Alton’s voice, and Scott reluctantly turned around in his chair. Alton had a white strip across his nose and both eyes were surrounded by colorful bruising.
“What are you doing out of the hospital?” Scott asked. “Aren’t you missing a lung or something?”
The question came out sounding more antagonistic than he’d intended; not because he didn’t harbor major hostility towards the guy, but because he usually hid that sort of thing better.
“Nope, all patched up,” Alton said. “Amazing what they can do these days. You should know. What was it – four bullets in the back?”
Before Scott could point out he’d been wearing bullet-resistant clothing, Lo arrived and tossed him a plastic-wrapped sandwich. “Food court was closed, so I had to hit the machine.”
He said, “Thanks,” and used his claws to tear into the plastic wrap before shoving the turkey on wheat into his mouth. The cheese tasted funny, but hopefully the sandwich would help settle his stomach.
Lo turned to Alton. “You on duty already? I thought you were at death’s door.”
“Felt like it, but I’m alright.”
“You don’t look alright, but you know what? I have some cream that’ll make you pretty again in no time.” She took off for her cubicle.
Scott ate his sandwich in silence, happy to have a reason to ignore Alton. He wasn’t jealous exactly – Bryn had very specifically told him she wasn’t interested in him – but it rankled that Alton had gotten close to her. Just because Bryn didn’t want him, didn’t mean he didn’t want her.
Lo came back with a tube of something that she proceeded to squeeze out onto her finger. Alton jerked his head back when she lifted her hand to his face.
“What’s in it?”
“How would I know?” she responded. “It’s for bruising, and trust me, it works miracles.”
Alton let her smear the stuff around and under his eyes. “Smells terrible.”
“Shut up.”
When Lo was finished, she stepped up close to Scott and said, “Your turn.”
Scott sighed, but tilted his head back obediently. The stuff did smell terrible, but he kept his opinion to himself.
When she finished, she asked, “You text Shasta?”
Scott had taken another bite of the sandwich, so he nodded.
“Heard back?”
He shook his head no.
She turned to Alton. “You?”
“Haven’t heard from her since this morning when she was on the way to the airport with Unger. Have either of you, um, heard from Dr. Padilla?”
Scott didn’t particularly want to tell Alton about Mia, but Bryn had sent that message telling him they’d been chased out of his apartment hours ago, and Mia should have been in and out of surgery by now.
“She’s getting grafted,” he said.
“What?” Alton had been leaning against the cubicle frame, but he jerked upright so quickly it must have hurt, because he winced and put a hand to his ribs. “Where?”
“New Rochelle. Why?”
“Gangs have been hitting rival dens all over the city, trashing surgeries and robbing customers. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news?”
Scott clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond to Alton’s implied criticism other than to say, “We’ve been working.” He pulled his holophone out of his pocket and checked his messages for the text he’d sent Mia. “She went to a den called Koo Koo Bamboo Tattoo. You got a list of the places that have been hit?”
Alton made a move like he was going to go somewhere to find out, but Lo said, “Hold on.” She’d also taken her holophone out, and lines of text flowed around her finger as she scrolled through information.
“Koo Koo was one of the first to get hit,” she said. “Dr. Padilla’s not on the list of victims, though.”
“What about Bryn?” Scott asked.
Alton shot him a look of disbelief. “You let her go, too?”
“I didn’t let her do anything,” Scott snapped. “Have you met her?”
Alton backed off, muttering, “Yeah, alright.”
“Bryn’s not here, either,” Lo said. “Maybe they didn’t go after all.”
Scott looked at Alton, then Lo. “So where the hell are they?”
Chapter Fifteen
All eyes were on Dundee and Bryn as they walked across the store to the front counter. He had a hand on her upper arm, but she wasn’t resisting. There was no point. None of the shell-shocked customers would have interceded on her behalf.
The last time she’d seen Dundee, he’d forced himself on her and she fought back, using her quills much like she’d used them on that man earlier, but in Dundee’s case, the quills had pierced his eyes. It had seemed to be a horrific injury and she’d been worried for months that she’d blinded him. That was obviously not the case, but he was still wearing his sunglasses, so maybe his eyes were light sensitive now or something. Either way, she’d made a mortal enemy that day, and here he was, almost casually claiming her – for payback? Bryn didn’t doubt it for a moment.
His presence could only mean one thing: the Scaly Companion Pet Store and its xenografting den were owned by Dr. Fournier. Was the Bestia Butcher even now in the back operating on Mia?
As they approached the counter, Bryn avoided looking at the dead men, but was hyper-aware of their sprawled bodies. Turk was standing next to the cash register, a handgun resting within arms-reach, evidence that he’d been waiting for Dundee and friend to arrive before he came out shooting.
“Alright, everyone,” Turk announced. “That sucked, but it’s over now. Anyone who wants to avoid the police can go ahead and leave, but you’ll lose your place in line.”
Nobody moved.
The guy who’d come in with Dundee had a heavily freckled face and long red dreads. He hooked his hands under the arms of one of the dead men and started to drag the body away.
One of the customers said, “You’re not supposed to move the bodies.”
“Yeah?” the guy said. He pointed up at the ceiling. “See that camera? That’s all the police need. And just for that, you can help me move this meat. Get his legs. Unless you want his dead eyes staring at you until the cops get here – which will probably be hours from now, if they bother to show up at all.”
The customer who’d spoken up swallowed convulsively. Bryn didn’t hear what he said, because Dundee pulled her with him to the door leading to the back room.
Turk held out a hand as they walked past. Dangling from one finger was a blue s
urgical mask.
“Oh, right,” Dundee said. He set his shotgun down on the counter with a clunk and took the mask, fitting it over his nose and mouth without taking off his sunglasses, and hooking the elastic behind his ears.
It was a pointed reminder that Bryn was now in the company of patient zero, the first known case of the super typhoid. Dundee was Fournier’s man through and through, a carrier who had deliberately infected people with it at Fournier’s bidding, just like Junk had.
They went through the door and walked down the hallway, past the room with the bioengineered animals and through another door into a larger room. There were around fifteen people sitting on chairs or lying on cots, in various stages of prep or recovery. The air was cold and smelled of antiseptic.
A man in blue scrubs saw Dundee and said, “Hey, you can’t be back here.”
“Just leaving,” he replied. He nodded towards Mia and told Bryn, “Get your friend, or I will.”
She didn’t ask how he knew she was with Mia. There were cameras in every room. Fournier installed them in all his facilities. Bryn had kept her quills hidden until that xeno thug had pulled her hood off. If he hadn’t done that, would she be out there blending in with the other customers right now? Or had Fournier known she was here all along?
As soon as Mia saw Bryn she jumped up from her chair. She was clutching a white plastic bag, but her purse, which had been in her lap, slid to the floor. She started to bend down, but stopped and looked up at Bryn.
“Can you get that for me?” She extended her hand towards the purse.
Bryn picked it up, but Dundee snapped his fingers and she handed it over. Mia didn’t seem to notice. From the dull look on her face, Bryn figured they’d given her a hefty dose of something to kill the pain. Before she took Mia’s elbow, she asked quietly, “Where did you get it? Your back?”
Xenofreak Nation, Book Three: XIA Page 6
