Reapers

by Bryan Davis

  The image of the camp prisoners blended into the memories, forlorn faces in a sea of misery. I nodded. “You’re right, Crandyke. Thanks for the reminder.”

  “My first name is Albert.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “What?”

  “Albert.… That’s my first name.”

  “Okay… uh… Albert. Thanks again.”

  “But you can keep calling me Crandyke since you’re used to it. I just thought you’d like to know.”

  “Sure. I’m glad to know.” I drew a mental image of Crandyke… Albert… standing upright instead of lying dead on the sidewalk. Before last night, he had been just another soul, another bug in my rug as he had said. Now he had become a counselor, a guide, a friend. “I’ll give you an update soon.”

  I rose to my knees. Sing and Shanghai slept on, both curled toward me with lips pursed as they breathed heavily. I compressed Sing’s shoulder. “It’s time to poison the coffee.”

  Bleary-eyed, she sat up and stretched her arms. “I could use some coffee, minus the poison.”

  “I think they serve unpoisoned coffee at Eggs & Stuff.” I gave Shanghai’s arm a gentle shake. “Ready to go to prison?”

  “Been there, done that.” She grasped my hand and pulled to a sitting position, rubbing her nose as she grimaced. “I dreamed you were punching me. It still hurts.”

  “Sorry. I probably thought you were Alex.”

  After we climbed to our feet and checked our weapons belts and the drug vials, we walked over the connected buildings toward the fire escape, then down to the street and through the sleeping city. With every step, I felt lighter, freer, as if I were walking through the Gateway and discovering the greatest secret in the world, though eventually thoughts of Misty dragged me back to reality. Still, the need to rescue her kept my feet moving swiftly.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, we climbed another fire escape to the roof of a two-story building across the street. We stooped behind a parapet and watched the front window where “Eggs & Stuff” stretched across the glass in block letters, illuminated by a solitary streetlamp below us. Inside, the proprietors were likely brewing coffee and cooking breakfast on a gas-powered stove, but the typical breakfast aromas didn’t reach our high perch.

  Spits of rain dropped from the dark sky, enough to paint the pavement with a sheen that reflected the lamp’s glow. Three vehicles—a modern four-door sedan and two old pickup trucks—sat in metered spaces, one on our side of the street and two in front of the restaurant. Darkness hid any passengers from view.

  “No sign of the Eagle or Fiona,” Sing said, “but they wouldn’t make themselves obvious.”

  Soon, the loud rattle of an engine approached. A white van drove up and parked next to the streetlamp, parallel to the curb. Seconds later, the headlights darkened, and the engine died. Everything fell silent.

  I leaned over the parapet. Only the top of the van was in view. “Anyone catch the words on the side? I can’t see them from here.”

  “I saw Transport,” Sing said. “The rest was a blur.”

  “That’s got to be it.”

  After another minute, candlelight flickered inside the restaurant, drifting from the back toward the front. A man dressed in tattered jeans and a khaki shirt got out of one of the pickups and waited in front of the window. A woman unlocked the door and let him enter.

  The van door opened, and a huge, muscular man stepped out. As he walked toward the restaurant, he tucked a long knife into a belt sheath and fastened a snap over it. Clean shaven and hair closely cropped, he looked like a pumped-up Marine.

  Shanghai let out a low whistle. “He’s practically a mountain. Getting the keys from him won’t be easy.”

  “You’re telling me.” I stretched my fingers on each hand, still sore. “It might take all three of us.”

  The sedan’s door opened. A woman stepped out from the driver’s side and looked around. A veil covered her hair and face, revealing only her eyes.

  “That’s her,” Sing said. “The Eagle.”

  I picked up a piece of gravel and threw it at the street next to her. When it clicked on the pavement, she looked up. I stood and waved. She nodded, walked around the car, and let Fiona out from the passenger’s side.

  “Let’s go.” Treading lightly, we hustled down the fire escape and across the street. When we arrived, I hugged Fiona and kissed her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I wish I could have done more to save Colm.”

  Tears sparkling, she patted my hand. “Don’t fret, Phoenix.” Her Irish-flavored voice sounded musical in the deadness of early morning. “We live in dangerous times. I am grateful for the years we had together.”

  When I stepped back, Shanghai wrapped her cloak around Fiona. “Colm asked me to do this. He is inside these fibers, and he hopes this embrace will last until he sees you beyond the Gateway.”

  Fiona bit her fist, then quickly pulled it down. She grasped an edge of the cloak and kissed it, closing her eyes as she inhaled through her nose.

  While we waited, four men and a woman filed into the restaurant. More candles flickered to life, and each opening of the door sent a wave of chatter into the street.

  Finally, Fiona released the cloak and looked at the van. “Is that our vehicle?”

  I nodded. “I’m supposed to jump the driver and get the keys, but he looks like a tough customer.”

  “Of course he’s tough. He’s Irish. I could tell.” Fiona gestured with her head. “Come on. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Wait just a minute.” I turned toward the Eagle and searched her eyes. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but I guess I have to trust you. Anyway, have you heard about Alex killing Misty or what she did with her?”

  The Eagle nodded. “I heard.” Her voice sounded gravelly, maybe intentionally so. “If I had to guess, Alex probably instructed Peter to reap Misty and put her soul in the depot’s transfer sphere. I assume she will stay there until the camp prisoners are reaped. All the souls will be transferred to the actual Gateway at that time.”

  “Alex mentioned that she would take Misty to the abyss,” I said. “She mentioned that place to me once before but didn’t explain it.”

  “Ah!” The Eagle lowered her gaze. “And I heard Kwame is in the sphere as well. Alex would use such leverage, at least to gain an advantage.”

  “Well…” I cocked my head to try to see her eyes again. “What is the abyss?”

  She refocused on me. “According to one of our spies, the Gatekeeper has a… well, I suppose you could call it a pool that tortures souls. He considers it the ultimate capital punishment, reserved for those who commit high treason. This pool is rightfully called the abyss. They say if you could hear the cries of anguish from a soul who’s thrown in there, you’d understand.”

  My heart pounded. “When would Alex do it?”

  “Since she plans to reap camp prisoners today, she would need a different collection sphere for them. I assume Erin will bring a new one this morning and take the filled one to the abyss sometime today.”

  “Do you think she would really send Misty to the abyss?”

  “Impossible to know. Alex has a mean streak, and Erin is unpredictable. I wouldn’t put it past either of them.”

  I nodded, my lips tight. “Then let’s get this done.”

  “I agree.” The Eagle walked back to her car and stood at the open door. “I’ll wait to hear how you fare in the restaurant before I leave, but please hurry.”

  “Sure thing.” I opened the restaurant door and ushered Fiona, Sing, and Shanghai inside. The chatter hushed. The customers stared, some sitting in booths and some at tables. No one breathed a word. Even the flames on the dozen or so candles scattered here and there seemed to stand at attention as if waiting for someone to break the silence.

  Fiona walked straight to a booth where the van driver sat peering over the top of a menu. She pushed the menu down and looked him in the eye. “Will you help a grieving widow rescue some innocent folks bef
ore they meet the same fate as my dear husband?”

  “I will.” He slid out from his seat and rose to a towering height, his Irish brogue deep and lyrical. “Where is the scoundrel who would hurt your folks?”

  Fiona’s accent thickened to match his. “Are you delivering supplies to the corrections camp this morning?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, they’ll be executing everyone there shortly after dawn, even mums and their wee babes.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’ll be a terrible carnage.”

  “There, there, now.” The man picked up a napkin and extended it to her. “What is your name, good lady?”

  She took the napkin and dabbed her cheeks. “I am Fiona, and my husband was Colm.”

  “Ah! And I am Liam.” He picked up another napkin. “What can I do to help you?”

  “Well, Liam…” Fiona’s voice shifted to a furtive tone. “I need you to drive my friends into the camp.… Secretly.”

  Liam gave us a doubtful stare. “Reapers?”

  “Of course they’re Reapers. Who better to rescue lost souls than a Reaper?”

  “Lost souls? You mean…” He leaned close to her. “Taibhse?”

  “No, not ghosts.” She batted him away. “People. Family people who need help from good folks like us. Reapers hide in darkness like the shadows themselves. They leap from roof to roof and fly down from above like the holy angels. No one can rescue better than they can. All they need is a way to get past the front gate.”

  Liam shook his head doubtfully. “I want to help you, but…” He scanned the other restaurant patrons. “I have my own family to think about.”

  “What he’s saying…” An old man chewing an unlit cigar hopped down from a barstool. No taller than Sing, he slid the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Liam. “If word gets out that he helped resisters, he and his family will be the next camp rats. Extermination’s flowing like storm water through the sewers. No one wants to be next. We have to protect our wives, our children.”

  Sing walked up to the man and spread an arm around his back. “If you really want to protect your loved ones, then you’ll help us. The Council preys on your fears, but they’re the ones who should cower. If everyone stands together, we’ll be a force they can’t possibly overcome.”

  “Maybe so.” The man stuck the cigar back into his mouth. “But no one wants to stand up first. The first rat out of the hole gets his head chopped off.”

  I raised a hand and nodded at Sing and Shanghai in turn. “We three Reapers are already standing up. We’ll take the first blows. Just help us save the camp dwellers—the fathers, the mothers, the children. That’s all we ask. Spare them a little bit of the same love you show to your families. By helping us, you’ll help them end their suffering.”

  Silence descended again. Candles wavered. A tear trickled down one woman’s cheek. The cigar-chewing man sniffed and looked away.

  Finally, Liam cleared his throat. “Well, since you put it that way…” He gave us a firm nod. “I’m your driver.”

  Applause broke out from the other customers. An old man wearing thick glasses shook my hand. A youngish pockmarked woman patted me on the back, then did the same to Shanghai and Sing. The cigar man hugged Sing, leaving a fleck of tobacco on her cheek.

  We left the restaurant to the sound of excited chatter. Since we no longer needed Fiona as a driver, we sent her away with the Eagle. Liam guided Shanghai, Sing, and me into the van’s rear compartment between shelves lining the side panels. Sing and Shanghai sat together against one shelf, while I sat opposite them, all three of us with our knees pulled close to our chests.

  I flicked on my flashlight and ran the beam along the shelves, revealing plastic bins filled with stacks of office supplies from clipboards to staplers, some arranged neatly and some in haphazard array.

  The engine started, once again rattling, and the van pulled into the street. Liam whistled a sharp note. “Keep your heads low. The lights’ll be bright when we get to the gate.”

  “Will do.” I followed the scent of coffee to a shelf near my head. Foil bags the size of large pumpkins filled the space, one with a torn corner, providing the rich aroma. “How many bags of coffee do you deliver there, Liam?”

  “I haven’t looked at today’s order, but usually just one.” He leaned his head back. “Unless they’ve got visitors staying in their dorm. Then two. But why anyone would want to visit overnight is a mystery to me. They say it’s haunted. Spirits running around like vermin.”

  “I’ve heard that, too.” I heaved a coffee bag from the shelf and set it in my lap.

  Sing touched a corner of the bag. “So this is a week’s supply. You can’t pour the drug in there. It’ll be too diluted.”

  “Then we’ll have to brew the coffee ourselves, or at least get it started, and we’ll put the drug directly into the pots.” I shifted the bag to the side and handed a drug vial to Shanghai. “You can take care of the coffee in the Hilton, while Sing climbs to the roof. Then I’ll spike the watchtower coffee. We’ll meet in the prisoners’ living quarters and hide until we think they’re knocked out. Got it?”

  I aimed my flashlight at Sing and Shanghai. They both nodded but with doubtful expressions. I couldn’t blame them. This journey felt like fishing for sharks with ourselves as the bait, especially since Alex expected our return. It would take a miracle for us to get out alive.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I put the flashlight away and rested my head against the van’s shelf. Lights streamed by. Cars whizzed past. A few honked, prompting Liam to honk in reply and shout something in a foreign language, probably Gaelic, but I couldn’t translate. I knew a few Gaelic words but not those.

  The city was waking up, and if everything went according to plan, Chicago would never learn how three stowaways led two hundred prisoners out of the infamous corrections camp right under the guards’ snoring noses. And if we could penetrate the Gateway, maybe everyone’s lives would change forever.

  Thoughts of the Gateway resurrected Alex’s mention of the abyss. I painted a mental picture—a swirling whirlpool of darkness with shimmering faces spinning around and around, all with eyes and mouths locked open in abject terror. Apparently the Gateway deniers weren’t crazy after all. Maybe something sinister really did lurk in the Gatekeeper’s domain.

  When the van slowed, I shook the image away. Light poured in through the windshield. We all hunkered low. Shanghai covered herself and Sing with her cloak, and I ducked under mine.

  The hum of Liam’s opening window drifted by. Paper rattled. A guard’s voice followed. “What do you have?”

  “Printer supplies today,” Liam said, “And coffee, as usual. Your order calls for two bags. Do you have visitors?”

  “Yeah. Go to the dorm with the printer stuff and one bag of coffee. While you’re dropping off coffee here on the way out, we’ll have to search your van. Tight security today. We’re expecting escape attempts.”

  “No problem.” Liam chuckled. “Clean up the trash back there while you’re at it.”

  “Now he wants us to play janitor.” Something clicked. “Sign here.”

  After a few seconds, the van moved forward, its engine again making a racket. The lights dimmed. I peeked out from under my cloak. In the wash of searchlights, the Hilton drew closer.

  “Everyone getting out here?” Liam asked.

  “All but me,” I said.

  “Didn’t you hear him say they’re going to search my van? They’ll find you.”

  “I’m counting on a sudden blackout. If you’ll take your time going back to the gate, we should be okay.”

  “I will.” Liam stopped the van in front of the Hilton’s door. After getting out, he swung open the rear gate, using his massive body to block the light as he picked up a pair of printer toner cartridges. “When I give the word,” he whispered, “make a run for it.”

  Shanghai and I lowered our cloaks. I lifted the coffee bag to her. As a searchlight beam angled away, Liam
whispered, “Now!”

  With the coffee in tow, Shanghai got up and hurried past Liam. Sing followed in a blur. The rear gate slammed shut, leaving me alone in darkness.

  Liam’s head appeared at the driver’s open window. “I will help your friends with the coffee, but I can’t delay too much. Stay hidden.”

  I tried to match his Irish accent. “I will.”

  He smiled and tossed the key fob to me. “In case of emergency.”

  “Thank you.” After stowing the fob in my tunic pocket, I retrieved a second bag of coffee and waited, imagining Liam leading Shanghai to the coffee maker. My mind shifted to Sing’s likely progress as she set up a climbing line. In my mental scenario, she made it halfway up before a searchlight aimed its stabbing beam at her. Imaginary gunshots rang out, and she fell like a rag doll to the ground.

  I shook the nightmare away, but anxiety pounded my brain. What were we thinking? Of course they would see her. I had to create a distraction.

  I retrieved the fob and studied the buttons. In the dimness, a red one stood out—an alarm. I depressed it. The van’s horn blared again and again. The searchlights swept to the van and trained on it. I threw my cloak over my head and peeked out from underneath.

  Seconds later, Liam threw open the driver’s door. “Whisht!”

  I pressed the alarm button again, silencing the horn, but the searchlights stayed locked on the van.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Liam hissed.

  “Giving Sing a chance to get to the roof.” I tossed the fob back to him.

  “I think maybe you’re a brick shy of a load.” He sat heavily in the seat and thrust the key into the ignition. “But you’re probably right. I saw her climbing. She’s a fast little runt, but if I could see her, it wouldn’t have taken the guards long to spot her.”

  He started the engine and wheeled the van toward the front gate. “Your other friend is doctoring the coffee. No one’s around, so she should be fine.”

  “Thanks, Liam.”

  As he drove slowly, the searchlights followed, keeping the inside of the van bright and forcing me to stay undercover. Every few seconds, I peeked at the searchlight on the abandoned building. It had to turn off soon, or else this whole mission would be blown out of the water.