Reapers

by Bryan Davis

  Once we were alone and the train began its squealing departure, Shanghai lowered her staff. “We’ll let the others deposit their souls first, just in case.”

  “In case what?” Sing asked.

  Mex raised his hood. A slight tic in his face gave away his fear. “In case they give me a hard time for the transferred soul. Some of the Gateway attendants get miffed if their data doesn’t match what we’re carrying, and they’re more likely to punish me if a bunch of Reapers are around.”

  “To set an example,” Shanghai said. “Besides, there aren’t enough Gateway stations for all of us.”

  After we took turns using the outhouses, a light drizzle began to fall. I nodded toward the path. “At least let’s get under tree cover and let the branches leech out some of the contaminants. Then we can take our time.”

  “How long till the train comes to pick us up?” Sing asked.

  “About an hour and a half. We’ll be back without a problem.”

  I led the way along the path, Sing immediately behind me. Shanghai stayed close, but Mex trailed by several yards, grimacing with every step as the gravel crunched under our shoes on our way to the checkpoint.

  With tall oaks creating an arching canopy over our heads, the drizzle altered to larger, more sporadic drops that left splotches on our cloaks. Since we were plodding slowly, we would probably get pretty damp and give my captured souls more discomfort. I checked my clasp—unplugged. Good. I preferred avoiding Crandyke’s complaints.

  The path narrowed and bent to the right, bringing into view a black wrought-iron gate and a uniformed female attendant about fifty paces away. Designed to match the look of the Gateway as well as our clasps, including the joined hands at the fastening point, the gate was more ornamental than functional. Since the frame attached to a head-high chain-link fence that encircled the fifty-acre grounds, a potential intruder could climb in just about anywhere, though few would be bold enough to venture close to the mysteries that lay at the center of the compound.

  About fifteen paces in front of the gate, an old man sat on a stump at the side of the path. With his shoulders slumped, he hooked an arm around the base of a picket sign that read Reapers Beware. The Gateway Leads Souls to Torture. With his other hand, he extended a pamphlet, a multipage tract no one ever bothered to take.

  I nodded as I approached. “Good morning, Bill.”

  “Morning, Phoenix.” From beneath bushy gray eyebrows, Bill stared at Sing, his head swiveling as she drew close. Sing kept her gaze low, obviously avoiding eye contact, but when she passed by, she took the pamphlet and stuffed it into her cloak pocket.

  “Her name is Singapore,” I called as I continued walking. “First cycle.”

  “I know who she is.” Bill picked up a compact umbrella and opened it over his head. “I have my contacts.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. That rag you call a newsletter.”

  When we stopped at the gate, I stood in front of the attendant—Erin, a thirtyish redhead who wore navy blue coveralls over her trim form. “This is the easy part, Sing. Erin will read your birthmark DNA and send a message ahead so the attendants will know you’re coming. You’ll see why when we get there. She’ll also check your energy level and refill your blood reservoir if you need it.”

  “Okay,” Sing said with a less-than-confident nod. “I’ll watch and learn.”

  Erin reached a hand toward me. “Valve first.”

  I spread my tunic opening. Using a fingertip, she depressed my valve, making it protrude, and inserted a silver pen-like probe. When she twisted it, a sharp tingle ran into my chest reservoir and from there to my heart. Within a few seconds, a meter on the probe’s side flashed.

  “Your energy level is twenty-five percent.” Erin withdrew the probe and touched my clasp. “How’s your blood supply?”

  “Pretty low. I reaped a level two and an execution. They’re always a drain.”

  “Sounds like a tough cycle.” Erin’s tone matched her expression—mechanical and indifferent—as she tapped the information into a computer tablet hanging on the gate. “Birthmark check.”

  I leaned over and rolled up a pant leg, exposing the birthmark on my calf. While Erin drew the probe close to the mark, I looked at Sing. “It’s routine, but they want to make sure no one is posing as a Reaper. Sometimes we have new checkpoint workers and, of course, new Reapers.”

  “Routine for you,” Mex said. “I know a Reaper who has the mark on his butt.”

  Erin shook her head. “I know who you’re talking about. It’s not a pretty sight.” She pressed a button on the probe. A light flashed from the tip, sending a narrow beam over my mark—an oblong brown splotch just above my ankle. After a few seconds, the mark glowed purple. “Positive identification.” Erin tapped an entry into the tablet. “Your image will be ready when you arrive.”

  “Image?” Sing asked.

  I winked. “You’ll see.”

  Erin opened a short drawer embedded in the gate and withdrew a syringe. “Arm, please.”

  I rolled up my sleeve. Erin wrapped an elastic band around my upper arm and jabbed the needle into the crook. While more raindrops fell from the sodden branches, she pulled back on the plunger and filled the syringe.

  “How’s your blood supply?” I asked Sing.

  “Fine, I think. My quota’s low, so I don’t have to worry about it yet.”

  “Mine’s wasted.” Mex let out a long yawn. “I need blood and energy.”

  “Same here.” Shanghai began rolling up her sleeve. “I’m carrying thirteen souls, so—”

  “Twelve,” Mex said.

  “Right. Twelve. I’ve been a busy girl.”

  Erin handed me a cotton ball. While I pressed it on my vein, she pulled out the needle and inserted it into my clasp. As she filled the tiny reservoir, it grew warm and began to glow with a reddish hue.

  Sing folded her arms in front and furrowed her brow, apparently less than excited about the prospect of being probed and poked by Erin.

  “Done.” Erin pulled out the needle, not quite emptying the syringe. “I’ll store the rest in your blood-bank account.”

  I rolled down my sleeve. “Blood-bank account?”

  “It’s new.” Erin inserted the needle into a tube and ejected the rest of my blood into it. “We’ve developed a detection device that can track your blood from a long distance. I can’t explain the science behind it, but it has something to do with a Reaper’s DNA. Soon we’ll be able to find our Reapers wherever they go.”

  “Another way to keep us in line?”

  “No, Phoenix. It’s for your safety. You’ll wear a signal beacon that you’ll receive sometime during your next cycle. Since you’ll be able to remove the beacon whenever you want to, you don’t have to be paranoid about us tracking you when you want privacy. The point of the device is to find you if you get in trouble.”

  I gave a light shrug. “Sounds okay, then.”

  Shanghai took her turn, registering twenty-one percent, followed by Mex. When Erin announced his two-point-five-percent level, she shook her head but said nothing. After scanning their birthmarks, drawing their blood, and filling their reservoirs, she extended her hand toward Sing. “Next.”

  “I guess that’s me.” Sing spread her shirt’s plackets. As she lifted her chin, she licked her lips. “I’m ready.”

  “First timers.” Erin shook her head again. “You’d think I was going to rip her heart out.”

  “Give her a break,” I said. “The Jungle is tough for a rookie.”

  “If you say so.” Erin lifted Sing’s medallion, still attached to a chain around her neck. “What’s this?”

  “Just a keepsake,” Sing said. “It’s harmless.”

  “It might get in the way of the collection tube.” Erin pulled the chain over Sing’s head, momentarily catching it in her hair. “Pick it up on your way out.”

  “Okay. No problem.”

  Erin inserted the probe into Sing’s valve and turned it. Sing flinch
ed. When the probe flashed, Erin withdrew it and read the meter. “Eighty-five percent. You’re above the normal range.”

  Sing released her shirt. “I think it’s because… well, it’s just that…”

  “She reaped an old guy,” I said. “Easy stuff. And like she said, her quota’s low.”

  Erin gave me a skeptical look. “Again, if you say so.”

  “Then can we skip the blood?” Sing touched her clasp. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “It’s your life.” Erin flicked on the probe’s light. “Where’s your birthmark?”

  Sing used both hands to spread her hair apart between her ear and the top of her head. “It’s kind of hard to see.”

  “This will read it.” Erin pointed the beam at the spot. After a few seconds, the glow from Sing’s head spilled over Erin’s fingers. “Positive ID for Singapore.”

  When Erin drew the probe away, Sing flopped her arms at her sides. She looked at me and smiled, obviously relieved that the procedure had ended.

  After entering the information into her tablet, Erin disengaged the gate’s center bolt, slid it to the side, and walked the right-hand half of the gate to its fully open position.

  Shanghai pushed her staff into Mex’s hand. “You look like you need this more than I do.”

  “Thanks.” Mex braced himself on the staff and plodded forward on the trail, now flattened grass instead of gravel.

  As we followed, Bill called out, “Don’t feed Leviathan! His hunger will never be sated. His thirst will never be quenched.”

  “Freak,” Shanghai muttered. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Sing. He makes flat-earthers look normal.”

  Sing raised her hood, shading her eyes, but said nothing. I lifted mine and walked at her side. Since the three of us might soon become suite mates, it would be best to temper Shanghai’s words. “She’s right, you know. Those Gateway deniers think if we stop reaping, the souls will travel where they’re supposed to go without our help. But you’ve seen for yourself—”

  “I know what they think.” Sing kept her head low. “I might be a rookie, but I know what’s going on in the world.”

  “Right. I guess you do.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry.”

  She looked at me from her hood’s shadow. “Sorry for what?”

  “For assuming you didn’t know what the deniers think. It was like calling you ignorant, but you wouldn’t be a Reaper if you were ignorant.”

  “Thank you for saying that.” Keeping her gaze on me, she slid her hand into mine and held it as we continued walking. “You don’t mind, do you? No one’s looking.”

  My cheeks blazed. I resisted the urge to look at Shanghai to verify Sing’s claim. Either way, a fellow Reaper wouldn’t report the violation of friendship rules this far from our districts, and Misty would probably be all right with it. We were just holding hands, like I might with a sister… if I had one. “I don’t mind.”

  “Good.” She shook her head, making her hood fall back. A few droplets pelted her curls, making them shimmer. Her eyes seemed brighter somehow, more alive, as if walking into the Gateway sanctuary had made her prettier than ever.

  Soon, we crested a rise. Sing released my hand and folded both of hers at her back. The other Reapers came into view, walking toward us single file across a grassy clearing. With their hoods up and heads low, it was impossible to tell much about them, though they all appeared to be male. Their cloaks didn’t shimmer, and they strode uphill with vigor. Apparently the Gateway had provided their recharge.

  Once they passed by, we reached the bottom of the slope and began trudging up another rise, still maintaining Mex’s crippled pace. I glanced from the path to Sing. I hoped to catch a glimpse of her face the moment she saw the Gateway depot for the first time.

  When we made it to the top, Mex and Shanghai halted, Mex breathing heavily. Sing and I joined them, and all four of us stood abreast. A clearing spread out in a circle the size of a city block with surrounding trees arching overtop like a dome. Perfectly trimmed grass formed a ring around a smaller circle of gray-streaked white marble. At the far end of the marble, foot-high cylindrical pedestals stood in a semicircle, seven in all, curved so that the ends of the semicircle were closer to us than was the center.

  Immediately behind the central pedestal, the representation of the Gateway shimmered. As tall as a house and as wide as two city buses, this manifestation of pure energy floated at the same level as the tops of the pedestals. Like a fence attached to the gate, channels of light extended deep into the forest in both directions.

  I gave Sing another glance. Her jaw loosened, but her lips stayed together.

  “We have to leave our weapons belts here.” I unfastened my belt and lowered it to the ground. Shanghai and Sing did the same, while Mex set his belt and Shanghai’s staff down side by side.

  Shanghai waved a hand. “Enough dawdling. Let’s get it done.”

  We walked toward the marble circle. As soon as Shanghai’s foot touched the surface, a shining hologram took shape on the pedestal to the left of the central one. It quickly formed into a perfect replica of Shanghai, cloak and all, though semitransparent. When Mex followed, his image appeared on the pedestal to the left of Shanghai’s.

  Sing and I stepped onto the marble at the same time. My hologram appeared to the right of the central pedestal and Sing’s to the right of mine. All four Reaper images stared straight ahead with their hoods raised and their cloaks shimmering, though waves of static rippled through mine, warping the presentation.

  Sing’s mouth dropped open. Her wide eyes completed her look of awestruck wonder.

  As we walked on, light flashed at the central pedestal, and the image of a tall man formed. Cloaked in white, radiance poured from his face, making his features impossible to see.

  “The Gatekeeper,” I whispered to Sing. “Just a manifestation. He’s not really here. But I suppose you guessed that.”

  “Don’t worry about insulting me.” Her whisper carried a distinct tremor. “Tell me everything you know.”

  “Well, this is one of five Gateway depots on this continent. The Council tried to locate them as centrally as possible, but there’s more to it than just geography. There is one real Gateway, the place where every soul gets transferred to the afterlife. It’s a central hub, and the depots are nodes in an energy network, sort of like an electrical grid with transfer stations. Those fence-like channels on both sides of this depot are like connecting wires. Anyway, the depots have to be set where there isn’t so much interference from the fallout, points they call radiant gaps. Reapers sometimes have to travel for more hours than we do to get to one, but it’s the only system we’ve got.”

  “Where is the real Gateway?” Sing asked.

  I shrugged. “Beats me. As far as I know, no Reaper has ever been there. I suppose if you followed the grid, you’d eventually find it, if not for the security guards at the outposts who would shoot you on sight.”

  A few seconds later, two men dressed in ivory robes with gold trim walked from behind the Gateway, one at each side. Both sporting neatly trimmed white beards and flowing white hair, they looked like stereotypical angels from a biblical movie. “That’s Bartholomew with the hooked nose,” I whispered. “And Thaddeus is the one who walks with a limp. No idea why.”

  “All bow!” they called. When their voices died away, thunder rolled across the sky, as if in response.

  Shanghai, Mex, and I lowered ourselves to one knee and bowed our heads. Sing quickly did the same at my side. I leaned close to her. “Hold the pose until they say to stand. They know you’re a rookie, so they’re going through all the formalities. They’re far more lax with regulars.”

  “Are they trying to impress me or scare me?” Sing asked without looking up.

  “Both.”

  She shuddered. “They’re doing a good job.”

  “All stand!”

  We rose and stood in a row again, now fewer than ten steps from the closest pedestal. The two
attendants walked toward us in a stately march, Bartholomew carrying a computer tablet laid over his hands as if it were a serving tray. When they stopped in front of us, he nodded. “Photo sticks, please.”

  All four of us dug into our pockets and withdrew one or more sticks. I inserted one of mine into an interface in the tablet’s side. Molly’s image appeared on the screen, dancing in her ballerina costume. Once the tablet downloaded the photo, Bartholomew removed the stick and pushed it into his pocket. After I did the same with sticks for the other souls, Bartholomew studied the screen for a moment before nodding. “Quota met.”

  With a hand in my pocket, I fingered Crandyke’s photo stick, the only one with an embossed DEO emblem, making it easy to distinguish without looking at it. Normally I would go ahead and transport him even though I had already met quota, but his knowledge of the death industry could help us rescue Colm and his family.

  I released his stick and withdrew my hand. He would be furious, but what could he do except complain? Since he didn’t know I kept his stick, he wouldn’t figure out that he had been left behind until after the soul-withdrawing process. Yet if Bartholomew noticed a mismatch between the number of souls I provided versus the number the DEOs reported, he might give me a hard time. If so, I would have to come up with an excuse.

  After Shanghai and Mex downloaded their sticks, Sing inserted her first one. An old man appeared on the screen, posing with a bowler hat pressed against his chest, most likely Brennan. The next stick brought up Gail, standing with Mike in the same position his stick had displayed earlier.

  Before pushing in her third stick, Sing glanced at me but quickly refocused on the tablet. When she slid it in, she coughed loudly several times. As the spasms continued, Bartholomew patted her on the back. “I think the damp weather doesn’t agree with you.” While her coughs and patting continued, the screen displayed an Oriental woman sitting at a desk with a pen in hand. Seconds later, the image disappeared.