by Bryan Davis
I unhooked my flashlight, flicked it on, and aimed it at the spot. I dabbed it with my finger and shone the beam on the tip. “It’s blood. And it’s fresh.”
“I thought I felt something.” Shanghai lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing her skin up to her ribs. A raw gash marred the side of her muscular abdomen, and blood trickled into her pants.
“Bullet wound.” I twirled my finger. “Turn a bit.”
Shanghai twisted, revealing her back. No other marks appeared.
“It must have just grazed you.”
“Does it hurt?” Sing asked.
“It stings quite a bit.” Shanghai lowered her shirt. “A lot less than being punched by Phoenix. That one jab really packed a wallop. No one’s ever bloodied my nose before.”
“Sorry about that.” I shone the light on her face. Although a red smear covered her upper lip, her nose had stopped bleeding. “Was your fighting all an act?”
“Sort of. I felt the fury, so I let it loose as far as I dared, sort of like a tiger straining against a leash. After you decked me, I faked passing out, so I heard everything.” A new tear sparkled in her eye. “Thank you for sparing my life.”
As I gazed at her, Misty’s face flashed to mind, her horrified expression as the sonic gun went off. I barely managed a whisper. “You’d have done the same for me.” I cleared my throat, turned off the flashlight, and clipped it to my belt. I had to change the subject or risk another breakdown. “Okay, what’s the first step in our plan?”
Sing settled into my one-armed embrace, her head again on my shoulder. “The Eagle heard that Erin’s coming back shortly after dawn for the first executions.”
“Dawn.” Shanghai scooted close on my other side. “That doesn’t give us much time.”
“We got a new infusion of energy,” I said. “Maybe we can shift to ghost mode and sneak into the camp that way.”
Shanghai shook her head. “I’ve been trying. Maybe it’s because we got a different kind of energy, or maybe what Sing gave us wasn’t enough, but I couldn’t transform.”
“I’ll give it a shot.” I stared at my ring and concentrated on Misty’s soul and my need to rescue her, but exhaustion overwhelmed the desire. Like Shanghai said, something was missing.
“No luck?” she asked.
“Nothing. We’d better get some advice.” I slid an arm free, connected my clasp to my valve, and nodded at Shanghai. “Plug in, and we’ll hear what Colm and Crandyke have to say.”
She locked in her clasp. “Ready.”
“Crandyke,” I said into my cloak, “we need your advice. Do you—”
“You’d better believe you need my advice.”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
“Tori has been filling me in on what’s going on in the corrections camp.”
“Okay. That’s good.… I hope.”
“You hope? Of course it’s good. Had I known that children were enslaved there, I would’ve been more helpful. But no, you didn’t tell me about that. You keep counting on coercing me by holding me hostage instead of just appealing to my compassion for children.”
“I didn’t know you had compassion for children. You said you didn’t have any loved ones.”
“Shows how much you know. I had a wife and daughter who both died in the flu epidemic a few years back, and my parents died when I was little. I grew up in a foster care center with lots of kids. When the government closed all the centers down, I lost contact with most of my friends, but I never lost the memories. Some of those friendships kept me going when I was young.”
“Sorry, Crandyke, I had no idea.”
“Maybe you could have asked. You seem to fawn over the children, which I highly commend, but you don’t care about old coots like me. I’m just another bug in your rug.”
“Okay. You win. I should’ve been nicer to you.” I let out a sigh. “Just tell me if you have any ideas. We’re hoping to break back into the prison to rescue everyone.”
“Well, let’s see. What day of the week is it?”
“Wednesday.… Well, it’ll be Thursday in a few hours. The electricity’s still on in a lot of the buildings, so it’s probably not quite nine in the evening.”
“The camp gets supplies Thursday morning,” Crandyke said. “A van comes from the warehouse. You know, food, office odds and ends, cleaning implements, that kind of thing. If you could hijack the van, you could drive right through an open gate.”
“How early does it show up?”
“Before dawn. It brings coffee, so they make sure it’s there for the morning shift in case they’ve run out. Caffeine addiction is epidemic among prison guards, as you might expect.”
“Among Reapers, too.” I pictured a group of guards gathered around a coffee pot, all of them eagerly guzzling. “Could we spike their coffee with something to knock them out?”
“Exactly my thought. A strong depressant could do it. At that time of day, they might not notice that the coffee’s more bitter than usual.”
“Then we need a drug supplier. I’d have to mingle into the shroud, but there’s no guarantee I’ll find the right drug, and I don’t have anything to barter with.”
Shanghai whispered, “And we don’t have that kind of time.”
I nodded. Her sensitive Reaper’s ears had tuned in quite well.
“Simple,” Crandyke said. “I have a friend who’s a doctor, and he owes me a favor. We were in the foster home together, and I didn’t rat on him when he nailed the nanny’s shoes to the ceiling. Anyway, his name is Dr. Rubenstein. If you tell Ruby that Crabapple sent you, he’ll give you what you need.”
“They called you Crabapple in the foster home?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No. It’s… uh… fitting, I guess.”
“We all thought so.”
“So now we need a hijacking plan,” I said. “Do you know the delivery drivers?”
“Not personally. I just approved the requisitions. I probably saw a name or two, but I don’t remember them.”
Shanghai touched my hand. “Colm’s been listening. He has an idea.”
I shifted toward her and trained my ears on her cloak. “Go ahead, Colm.”
“First, I want to thank you.” Colm’s voice came through weak and jittery. “You risked your lives to rescue my wife, my daughters, and Colleen, and I am the most grateful man in the world… though I suppose I’m not really in the world anymore.”
“You’re welcome, Colm. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’m just sorry we couldn’t save you as well.”
Sing nodded. “Have no fear. Our allies put your loved ones in good hands. Fiona, Colleen, and your daughters will soon be on their way to a safe house, and they will be well cared for.”
“Again, I am grateful.” Colm’s voice caught for a moment, forcing a pause. “Regarding your need to commandeer a delivery van, I once worked a carpentry job at an eatery near the corrections camp. I learned that it is a favorite early morning haunt for drivers who are about to go on their delivery routes. You could check to see if the supply driver is there and borrow his van while he is eating.”
“And if he’s not there?” I asked.
“Then I suppose you’ll have to hide out near the camp and hijack the van. I apologize, but I don’t have all the answers.”
“No worries, Colm. Just give us the name of the restaurant. We’ll take it from there.”
“It’s called Eggs & Stuff. They serve mostly breakfast.”
I nodded. “Eggs & Stuff. I know the place. What time do they open?”
“At four, I believe.”
“We’ll be there a few minutes early.” I focused on my own cloak. “Crandyke, what does the delivery van look like?”
“It’s a full-sized van. White. The lettering says ‘Mayfield Transport.’ They contracted with us to do local deliveries.”
“Any windows?”
“Only in the driver’s compartment. One on each side. And the windshield, of course.”
“Perfect. We can hide in the back. We just need a driver the gate guards won’t recognize. They know all three of us.”
“Fiona can drive it,” Colm said. “She practically grew up on a farm tractor. She can drive anything.”
I looked at Sing. “What do you think? Can you get her to help before she goes to the safe house?”
Sing blinked. “Fiona?”
“Right. Colm just said she can drive the delivery van.”
Sing looked toward the edge of the roof. “If I’m going to catch her, I’d better go now.”
“Alone? With your energy depleted? Between now and midnight is prime bandit time.”
“Don’t worry about me and those snakes. I’m like a mongoose.” Sing rose to her feet and refastened her belt. “I’ll ask the Eagle to bring Fiona to the restaurant.”
“Good. Eggs & Stuff. A few minutes before four.”
“And where should I meet you after I talk to the Eagle?” Sing asked.
“Back here, I suppose. We can sleep for a while until we go to the restaurant. It’ll be too dangerous to hang around at street level.”
“See you then.” Sing jogged to the ladder, swung onto it, and disappeared below the roof line.
Now alone with Shanghai, I spoke again into my cloak. “Crandyke. Back to the doctor. Do you think he would treat Shanghai’s gunshot wound?”
Crandyke’s voice spiked. “She has a gunshot wound, and you’re sitting around chatting about breakfast?”
“Well… yeah. We don’t think it looks bad enough to—”
“Don’t be an idiot, Phoenix. You can’t see infection.”
“I know, but we thought—”
“No buts. Get up and get moving. I’ll guide you to the doctor’s home, and Tori and I will come up with a plan to get that drug into their coffee, maybe disguise the taste somehow.” He let out a huff. “At least someone around here has some sense. If it takes a dead seven-year-old girl and an equally dead paper-pushing clerk to save the prisoners, then so be it.”
“Whatever you say, Crandyke.” I stood and helped Shanghai to her feet. Keeping our heads low, we scurried along a series of connected rooftops. After traveling about a block, we reached the end of the set of buildings. There we descended a ladder that dropped us toward an alley next to a dumpster brimming with broken furniture, including a legless table, mattress stuffing, and a beat-up sofa.
Once we arrived at street level, we jogged through the city to a middle-income section, Crandyke guiding us along the way. Compared to the rundown houses in my district, this area of detached homes and grass lawns seemed like a haven of riches, though not unexpected since a physician’s practice couldn’t survive in my neighborhood.
After finding the doctor’s residence and convincing him that “Crabapple” had sent us, he stitched Shanghai’s side and applied an antibiotic cream. The office visit also gave us the chance to use the toilet and wash our faces, hands, and arms. A mirror provided a view of my beat-up face—a bruise on my chin, a cut over an eyebrow, and scrapes on my forehead. By the time I finished cleaning up, gallons of red-tinged water had swirled down the drain.
Once we obtained the liquid drug in two vials, we walked out of the doctor’s suburban neighborhood and back into the business district. As we marched, I slid out my watch and checked the time—a little after midnight. “If we hustle back to that roof, we can get maybe three hours of sleep. Sing’s probably waiting for us.”
Shanghai yawned. “Sleep won’t come easy. That roof isn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it’s out of sight.”
“I saw a sofa in a dumpster. The cushions should help.”
We retraced our steps to the alley, careful to watch for bandits and prison guards. While climbing the ladder, we hauled the sofa cushions to the roof and dragged them toward the spot where we had rested earlier. As we drew near, Sing rose from behind the parapet, now dressed in typical Reaper garb, likely provided by the Eagle, though she still had no cloak. “You made it!” she whispered. “I was wondering if you got ambushed.”
“No problems.” I set a cushion at her feet. “Did you contact the Eagle about Fiona?”
“Yes. They’ll both be at the restaurant.” Sing helped us set the other cushions side by side, and we settled onto our makeshift beds—a bit musty, but far better than gravel and tar.
“Okay, Crandyke,” I said into my cloak. “We’re all gathered again. Did you and Tori come up with any ideas?”
“Logistics mostly.” Crandyke’s voice was strong and lively, loud enough for Sing and Shanghai to hear. “Tori said the guards all drink from a pair of community coffee pots located in the watchtower, so we’ll have to spike both of them.”
I nodded. “We also have a pot in a dining room in the Hilton, so we’ll have to spike that one for Alex and Peter.” I withdrew one of the vials and looked at the hazy moon through its transparent contents. “Based on what the doctor told me about how potent the drug is, I’ll dump half a vial in each of the guards’ pots and a full vial in the Hilton’s. We have to be sure to knock Alex and Peter out.”
“Good plan,” Sing said, “but it’s not as easy as it sounds. Even if we get inside, we have to scatter like invisible ghosts before Fiona drives away. It might take a while for them to drink the stuff and even longer for it to knock them out.”
“You’ll need the cover of darkness,” Crandyke said. “Tori told me she went to both searchlights. She couldn’t figure out how they work, but she saw power cords. Even if they’re locked in place, you can cut them. You might get a jolt, but the guards won’t be able to turn them back on.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “It’ll still be before dawn, so that’ll help.”
Sing pressed a thumb against her chest. “Killing the lights will be my job. You two will have to dodge the guards until I can cut the power. We’ll have to work out the details on the fly.”
Shanghai stretched her arms and yawned. “We’d better get some sleep or we won’t have any power.”
I felt the watch in my pocket. It had no alarm mechanism. “I don’t have a way to make sure we get up in time.”
“Stay plugged in,” Crandyke said, “And I’ll wake you up in three hours. I’ll count the seconds if I have to. Tori can help.”
“Thanks, Crandyke.”
While Sing and Shanghai curled on their cushions, I laid my head and shoulders on mine, my feet propped on the roof’s parapet. A cool breeze wafted over the warm rooftop, caressing my cheeks with shifting temperatures that soothed my tired body. Sleep would come soon. I could feel it.
A few stars shone through the haze, a rare sight in the city. Ever since the meltdown, no one in Chicago bothered to gaze at the heavens. The specter of what couldn’t be seen… or reached… brought to earth the choking reality of our condition. We were trapped, human waste unable to escape from a tawdry shell, this dumpster called life.
And I was a waste-disposal unit, destined to haul forsaken souls to a shadowy door that opened to the unknown—the Gateway, that unexplained beyond-reproach expectation of release from this festering cavity.
A horn blared far away. A woman shouted, something about burning her hand on a candle, likely a cry of pain echoed within many a wall in the windy city. With electricity cut-off hour now past, the lights-out routine had been repeated a million times from row house to row house, from shanty to shanty. The jungle natives did what they could to survive.
In my mind, a thousand matches touched a thousand candlewicks, giving light to an equal number of darkened chambers. A man carried a silver taper to a bedroom and checked on three sleeping children crowded on a bed. The wavering light fell across the contented faces, giving the man reason to sigh with relief.
A woman probed a pantry with the light of a stubby red candle, hoping to find something to prepare for the next day’s meals. Her hands trembling, she grasped a can of beans, then a bag of rice, a thin smile on her face—one more day her children could go to bed without the pang
s of hunger.
And in the glow of a flickering unity candle, two inches high and blackened by decades of anniversary celebrations, an old man kissed a frail old woman, slid into bed with her, and blew out the flame.
The scene faded to gray, then to black. All was silent. The city waited anxiously for dawn. They waited for someone to rise up and prove that their hopes and prayers weren’t for naught. They needed a courageous warrior who would open the gate and show them the other side of eternity.
“Hope,” I whispered. “It’s all they have. Who’ll keep it alive?”
“What?” Sing touched my elbow. “Phoenix, did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself.” I settled deeper into my cushion. I had to do more than just talk about hope. I had to make it visible. Somehow Shanghai, Sing, and I would open the ultimate Gateway and see the wonders on the other side—stand together with our hands clasped and witness what has been hidden from everyone for so many years. And then we would return and tell the world about it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Wake up, Phoenix. It’s time to be a hero.”
I opened my eyes and stared at the blackness. The scant array of stars had disappeared, and mist filled the air. A rumble of thunder coursed across the heavens. Where was I? Why did everything hurt so much? And who called from my cloak?
A new voice spoke up, quieter, childlike. “Phoenix, it’s Tori. You have to get up. You have to rescue Misty’s soul.”
“Misty’s soul?” Memories roared to mind—pain, so much pain and hopelessness. When Misty’s terrified face appeared, a mental dagger shredded my heart. “She’s… she’s dead.”
Crandyke’s voice returned, soft and soothing. “I know what it feels like, Phoenix. When my wife and daughter died, I died with them… inside, I mean. The pain eases over time, but it never goes away. You just have to pick yourself up and do what you have to do. And what you have to do is get up and rescue people who can’t rescue themselves. They’re all counting on you. Like I said, it’s time to be a hero.”
