Reapers

by Bryan Davis

  “Can I let her have mine?”

  Ronald pursed his lips. “I suppose I can make the transfer, but you’ll have to wait outside. You can’t just stand and watch.”

  “But I’m teaching her, not just watching.” I clasped his shoulder and gave him a stern look. “Do you want to be the reason a new Reaper lost a perfect chance to receive crucial training?”

  Ronald gulped. “Uh… no. Of course not.”

  “Good.” I released him. “What can you do to help us?”

  Sweat beading on his forehead, he tapped the wall tablet’s screen and read a scrolling list. After a few seconds, he smiled nervously. “We’re in luck. Another prisoner is available for execution. The judge hasn’t entered the sentence in the system yet, but it’s just a formality.” He tapped the screen a few more times and nodded toward Sing. “Go ahead.”

  Sing pressed her thumb on the screen and entered a “one.” I led her through the doorway and down a narrow corridor illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights above. A door at the end swung closed and clicked shut—probably Moscow entering the furnace room.

  When we reached the door, I grasped the knob and pulled up my hood. “Get ready for an ugly scene. It’s hot, dirty, and…” I glanced at the sign on the door—Death Workers Only. “And sad.”

  She raised her hood. “I’m ready.”

  When I swung the door open, a blast of hot air dried my eyes and slid the cloak’s sleeves up my arms. About twenty paces inside, an open oven-like hatch at the back of the chamber revealed crackling flames burning deep within, making the brick wall look like a dragon’s gaping maw. In fact, the workers here called the furnace the dragon, sometimes making jokes about feeding it as they disposed of corpses in its fiery belly.

  Below the hatch, several foot-tall urns lined the base of the wall along with a shovel that leaned against a smaller, closed hatch. Firelight cast an undulating glow across a row of people kneeling on the concrete floor, their hands tied at their backs and their heads covered with dark burlap bags as they faced the flames. Since they didn’t struggle or cry out, they had likely been drugged, the usual procedure to keep violent criminals in check, but once their souls detached from their brains, the departing phantoms might not be so docile.

  I counted the condemned prisoners—eight, all apparently male and all wearing orange jumpsuits. Tim, a stocky DEO, paced in front of the line, tapping on a computer tablet. “Reapers, take your positions,” he said as he pivoted and continued his switchback march. “Singapore will wait for the final prisoner to arrive.”

  I touched Sing’s shoulder and whispered, “Stay close and watch. Don’t be intimidated. That’s the worst thing you can do.”

  We hurried to one end of the line. The other Reapers and I stood in front of the prisoners, our backs to the furnace. A photo stick lay on the floor in front of each victim.

  Sing shifted nervously at my side. “What were their crimes?”

  I shrugged. “No one ever tells us, but I’ve heard that most of them are murderers or rapists. They’re the lowest of the low.”

  Tim withdrew a sonic gun from a shoulder holster and walked around to the back of the prisoner line. He set the barrel against the base of the skull of the first prisoner and pulled the trigger. A hollow pop sounded. The prisoner’s head jerked forward. He grunted quietly, slumped over, and toppled to the side with a thud.

  I looked on without blinking. The sonic gun had just obliterated a man’s brain stem in unceremonious fashion, but I couldn’t think of a single reason to feel sad. They were getting what they deserved.

  Tim walked down the line and began shooting the remaining prisoners, pausing several seconds between each to let the gun recharge. With every pop, another head jerked and another body sagged or fell over. As if echoing the pops, Sing sucked in a series of short breaths. The furnace’s flames revealed sparkling tears in her eyes, though her expression stayed calm.

  When Tim executed the eighth man, he called out, “You have fifteen minutes, except for Phoenix. Since he’s teaching, he can have more time.”

  The first three Reapers snatched up the photo sticks, dropped to their knees in front of the victims, and tore off their bags. Each Reaper drove a dematerialized hand into a prisoner’s brain. Moscow pulled, grimacing. Mist boiled out from the prisoner’s eyes and surged across Moscow’s face, swirling like an angry tornado.

  Moscow fell backwards to his bottom and clawed at the mist with his disembodied hand. With his physical hand, he whipped his cloak around and smothered the escaping soul. The other Reapers battled their souls as well, some souls with more ferocity, some with less. Screams filled the chamber. Tormented cries bounced off the walls before being drowned out by the roaring fire as the Reapers took charge of the resisting souls.

  Sing drew in another sharp breath and held it. A single tear tracked down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away with a trembling hand.

  I hid a sigh. The first time I attended an execution, I had the same reaction. Without a trainer there that day, I had no one to guide me. I just copied what the others did, pretending to be callous as I ripped tethered souls from their bodies and battled their desperate attempts to escape from what the prisoners likely believed would be a terrifying afterlife. It didn’t take long for real emotional calluses to develop. I hadn’t shed a tear in this death chamber since that day.

  While Moscow and the other Reapers worked on the remaining victims, I crouched in front of the prisoner at the end of the line. Still somewhat upright, his shoulders sagged low. I picked up his photo stick, untied the drawstring at his neck, and slid the bag off his head. A mop of scraggily blond hair fell to his ears and over his bearded face.

  Sing knelt beside me and whispered, “He’s so young.”

  “Younger than most. Maybe twenty-five or so.” Grasping the photo stick, I raised the man’s image. His three-dimensional form stood over my curled fingers, an arm wrapped around a woman’s shoulders. Hunched over and shivering, both wore clothes that were not much more than rags. “Strange. They don’t let violent prisoners stay with their spouses. He might have been part of the Resistance.”

  Sing brushed a finger over the woman’s face. “His poor wife.”

  “First lesson. The sooner you detach your emotions, the better off you’ll be.” I let the hologram dissolve and stuffed the photo stick into my pocket. “Second lesson. Make the extraction quick. No one here cares how much the eyes bulge.”

  “But if he’s not violent, can’t you be gentle?”

  “With this one, probably, but yours might be violent.” I laid the man on his back, slid a sleeve over my hand, and covered his eyes. As soon as my forearm turned to vapor and my sleeve flattened, I slid my fingers under his lids and pushed into his brain. When I found his spherical soul, I grabbed it and pulled. The tentacles held fast.

  A whispered cry ran along my cloak’s fibers. “No. Please. Don’t. I have to stay. I have to help Gail.”

  “Your wife?” I asked.

  “Yes. Have you seen her?”

  I called to Tim. “What’s up with this guy’s wife? Is she here?”

  “She’s next on the list.” Tim tapped on his tablet. “She’ll be out here in a minute.”

  I glanced at Sing. She seemed calm, apparently accepting the news without emotion.

  “It’s too late to help Gail,” I whispered to Mike. “You’re dead. You need to let go.”

  I pulled gently, not just for Sing’s sake. With only one soul to reap, I had time, especially since this one didn’t appear to be ready to fight. Maybe when Gail came out Sing and I could reap the couple together.

  While I massaged the soul’s sphere, Tim stripped the jumpsuit off the first execution victim, hoisted the naked body over his shoulder, and hauled it to the furnace. Letting out a grunt, he heaved the limp corpse through the hatch. The body dropped a foot or so and disappeared in the flames with a thud and a chorus of loud crackles.

  A new blast of hot air breezed by,
carrying the unmistakable stench of burning flesh, though it diminished quickly as the inferno consumed skin and bones.

  The first Reaper nudged the second victim with a shoe. “Finished.” He wrapped his cloak close to his body, stalked to the door, and opened it. Another DEO bustled through from the other side, leading a jumpsuit-clad woman by a chain attached to manacles around her wrists. The officer bypassed the departing Reaper and pushed the woman to her knees next to my victim. Without a bag over her head, she scanned the furnace room. When she looked at the dead man’s face, she whispered, “Mike?”

  Sing knelt in front of the woman. The clarity in her eyes proved that they hadn’t bothered to drug her. She would face the terror unveiled.

  Letting out a shushing sound, Sing pushed back her hood. “Gail, my name is Singapore. Mike is dead, and my friend Phoenix is reaping his soul. When they execute you, I will reap your soul, and we’ll take you both to the Gateway.”

  When their gazes met, Gail clutched her jumpsuit at the chest. “The Resistance will triumph!” she shouted. “We speak for those who cower in fear, strangled by the Gatekeeper’s tyrannical grip! He can’t hold us down forever!”

  Tim hoisted another body over his shoulder. “No one here cares, lady. Your preaching days are over.”

  “You don’t care because you’re part of the death society! You’ve been pampered!” As her shouts echoed, tears flowed from her anguish-filled eyes. “Try living in the slums. They’re just a soul farm for the ravenous Gatekeeper. The poor are cattle he keeps in check by threatening their departed loved ones, and an uprising means a one-way trip to a death camp. Then the Jungle burns.”

  “Lady, you’re crazy.” Tim shoved the body into the dragon, again stoking the flames and creating another round of odorous exhaust. “But we’ll shut you up soon enough.”

  “Singapore!” Gail clasped her hands and looked up at Sing in a pleading posture. “You must help the Resistance! We are a Reaper’s friends, not a chain around your neck. Learn the truth! Help us set the souls free!”

  “I understand, Gail,” Sing whispered. “I will be your friend. Now prepare yourself to die. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

  “But Singapore, I—”

  “Shhh. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  The second DEO drew a sonic gun, set it against Gail’s skull, and pulled the trigger. Gail’s head snapped forward. As she tilted to the side, her eyes fluttered closed.

  Sing grasped Gail’s arm and guided her body down until she lay alongside her husband. After brushing another tear away, Sing pulled her sleeve over her hand and covered Gail’s eyes.

  While Tim and the second DEO stripped the remaining bodies and carried them to the furnace, the other Reapers departed, all with sagging shoulders and weary faces, exhausted by the battles. The furnace blaze erupted in greater fury, sending out a new blast of death-saturated air—hot, dry, and choking.

  I blinked at the stinging smoke. Sing held her breath and closed her eyes. With her free hand, she clamped down on the end of her reaping sleeve, sealing the opening.

  I refocused on Mike. “Gail is dead now, so let go. You’ll be together again very soon.”

  The tentacles released their hold. As I drew his soul through his eyes, I glanced at Sing. A slight hint of mist seeped around her sleeve. The reaping process had begun. For some reason, she kept her free hand over her sleeve’s opening, as if trying to keep something from escaping. Her method seemed unorthodox, but apparently it worked for her.

  When Mike’s soul seeped into my cloak, I scooted closer to Sing. While the two officers worked together to strip Mike’s body and carry him to the furnace, I watched Sing’s sleeve. A shimmer rode along the surface, giving evidence of Gail’s absorption. Within seconds, Sing would reach quota and qualify to go to the Gateway. We were fortunate to get cooperative souls tonight, though she didn’t learn how to handle the battles we often have to face here.

  Sing pushed her hand out of the sleeve and gave me a weak smile. “Are you ready to go?”

  I looked at the DEOs. They had opened the furnace’s lower hatch and were shoveling ashes into the urns. Of course, the ashes had mixed together, but the family members would never know the difference.

  “This one’s reaped,” I called. “We’ll be going now.”

  “Since I gave you some extra time…” Tim pointed at a pile of empty jumpsuits that lay between them and us. “Do me a favor. Strip off her clothes and throw them there. Marshall and I will toss her to the dragon after you leave.”

  “Uh… yeah. Sure.” I concealed a swallow. I had been asked to do this a few times before but only once for a woman. Yet, what did it matter? She was dead. She wouldn’t care.

  When I reached for the jumpsuit’s zipper just below Gail’s throat, Sing grabbed my wrist. “I’ll do it, Phoenix.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not like I haven’t dealt with a female corpse before.”

  I pulled the zipper down a few inches, but she stopped me again, a hiss rising in her voice. “Just wait for me in the hall.”

  I glared at her. “If you don’t want me to think you’re prudish, you’re not doing much to convince me.”

  Her grip tightened. “Phoenix, call me whatever you want, but I’m not going to sit idly by while you strip this poor woman nude. At least grant her a shred of decency. She’s already lost everything else.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I rose and stalked out to the hall. I closed the door and leaned against the side wall, crossing my arms. Decency? Seconds from now, Tim and the other DEO would carry Gail’s naked body and throw it into the furnace, not caring where they touched her. Was that decency? Sing’s inconsistency didn’t make sense. Maybe Gail’s speech had pricked Sing’s emotions—the very thing I warned her to avoid.

  A moment later, Sing opened the door and entered the hallway. She grabbed my forearm, and pulled me into a brisk walk. “Let’s go.”

  We hurried out the Reapers’ entrance and onto the sidewalk. The questions burned in my mind, but now probably wasn’t a good time to ask them. With a few hours to kill before the morning train, maybe we could sit at the station’s coffeehouse and talk over a strong brew.

  As we walked, we passed a convenience store sandwiched between a pawn shop and a plasma collection center. A ragged area of blood smeared the concrete a few feet in front of the door.

  Sing stopped and pointed at an awning over the store’s entry. “This is where I found Brennan. His ghost was floating under that canopy.”

  I studied the bloody area—the size of a blanket and still tacky. The bandits’ daggers had done their dirty work. “Level ones and twos like the feeling of being covered. Remember Miriam had an umbrella.”

  “Good to know.” Sing marched on, a hand in each cloak pocket. As I walked at her side, I glanced all around, wary for Brennan’s attackers. Every few seconds, I peeked at Sing’s expression. It never changed—always sober, eyes set straight ahead. Something held her thoughts captive.

  We passed closed businesses and vacant offices, sometimes enveloped in shadows and sometimes in light. In this section of the city, half of the streetlamps hadn’t worked in months, maybe years. The history books say this was a thriving community in better times but quickly deteriorated, especially after the meltdown.

  Decades ago, no one thought that a single nuclear reactor could devastate the entire world’s infrastructure, though rumors of what the power company was actually doing in that plant might have explained it… if anyone in the building had survived the disaster to tell the tale.

  When we reached the street that bordered the park, I pulled the watch from my pocket and squinted at the dark hands pointing at the almost unreadable numbers. “Twenty minutes after one. We have plenty of time to go around and avoid the woods. We can get some coffee and wait for the five o’clock train.”

  Sing studied my watch again. “Is that a family heirloom?”

  “A gift from a friend.” I closed the lid and slid it back to my po
cket. “Why?”

  “Just wondering. Not many people have a watch like that anymore.”

  “I guess I’m not like many people. Kind of unconventional, I suppose.”

  “I like unconventional.” Sing looked toward the train station, still too far away to see. “Why does it leave so early in the morning?”

  “To give Reapers a chance to sleep during the ride. People tend to die at night.”

  She nodded. “I should have guessed.”

  “We could get a nap and catch the eleven o’clock, but that’s a low-speed that won’t get us home until late evening.”

  “Look!” Sing pointed across the street.

  A cloaked figure carrying a wooden staff came into view, a hood over his eyes as he strode boldly into the park. The staff looked like a shepherd’s crook, though bent in the middle and knobby on the curved end, an uncommon tool for a Reaper but not unheard of.

  With his cloak’s fibers dazzling, this Reaper must have been carrying a dozen or more souls. As easy as he was to see, he would be bandit bait by the time he reached the center of the park.

  I pulled Sing along and crossed the street. “Stay close.”

  “Are we going to help?” she whispered as she skulked at my side.

  “Only if he needs us. Darken your cloak.” After unplugging our clasps, we veered off the sidewalk and onto a narrow, tree-lined path leading into the park. Step by step, darkness enfolded us. Since every sane citizen knew to avoid this area at night, the authorities kept the streetlamps off to save electricity, leaving the park a haunt for bandits.

  Still visible ahead, the mysterious Reaper marched on, clacking his staff on the walkway as if trying to invite attention. At this pace, we would emerge at the other end of the park in five minutes, and the danger would be over. Maybe the show of confidence intimidated the bandits. In another couple of hundred steps, we would know.

  A glint of metal flew toward the Reaper. In a flash of arms and cloak, he swung his staff and knocked a dagger away. Several more daggers swished through the air. Like a whirling top, he blocked each one, his staff a blur. When the Reaper stopped spinning, the cloak’s hood fell back. Long black hair spilled out, revealing the Reaper’s Asian features, soft and feminine.