by Hanks, Greg
“You tell me,” she said. “What in God’s name happened out there?”
I sat up and twitched in discomfort. How the hell would I know?
“We were just sitting in the computer room,” began Tara, “and then there was an explosion. That’s about it.”
Kelly shook her head. “I heard gunshots. We’ve got to get out of here.” She strode across the room and pressed her ear to the other door.
“Mark, your leg,” said Tara, viewing my shin with concern. I waved it off and tried to get to my feet. She held me down and said, “Wait, let me try to stop the bleeding. At least for now.”
She ripped off her shirt, leaving her in an orange tank top, and crafted a makeshift tourniquet, quickly fashioning it around the wound. It looked faulty, but seemed to work for now. She finished examining my leg with distaste and looked back to Kelly.
“Do you know a way out from here?” she asked.
“Yes. Let’s just hope it’s clear,” responded Kelly, touching a few options on the keypad.
Tara helped me get to my feet and we trudged over to the door. She only had a few cuts on her face, nothing too serious. I was grateful for her support, but it should have been me helping her.
We reached the side of the door, and looked at each other.
“We stay together, okay?” I said, indirectly including Kelly, too.
Tara bit her lip and nodded.
“It’s not far,” said Kelly, “There’s a corridor, then a left turn. After that there’s one more corridor and we’re home free.”
“Let’s do it,” I said.
12
The glossy door slid upward. We stepped through the threshold into a white-washed corridor. Our footsteps echoed as we ran across the pearl flooring. We came to a “T” and took the left turn.
Home free. Home free . . .
The next corridor was just as bright as the last. I was expecting to see the beautiful sight of golden glass doors, but was let down when another corner presented itself.
“Don’t worry,” said Kelly, practically reading my mind, “the doors are just past the turn.”
We sped up and approached the exit, not thinking of what we were going to do next. That would come later.
As Kelly took the corner, a blur of tar pushed her back.
Kelly! I screamed inwardly, too shocked to vocalize. The thick, metallic shaft of a suppressor jolted as the rifle discharged. Kelly’s head jerked to the side and she fell to the hard ground, blood pooling around her.
The rest of the killer’s body rounded the corner. My reflexes tightened and I lunged forward, trying to protect Tara from another bullet. I hit the armored man with such force that we reeled into the opposite wall. The soldier fired arbitrary rounds into the air as we toppled onto the floor. Tara’s shouts were silenced by my adrenaline and rage.
Realizing that Tara was in shock and might not grab his weapon, I tried to hold him down. I braced his thighs with my knees and struggled to keep his wrists to the floor. I screamed at Tara to go for the weapon, but he was too capable; he twisted his arms out of my lock and hammered my face with a metal fist. I gasped and fell over, tasting blood in my mouth. I felt hands clench the back of my shirt as he heaved me toward the corner where I smacked my shoulder and crumpled at the base of the wall. Disoriented, I turned to see him. An amoebic, ballistic-suited man stood above me, gripping a silver dagger.
He raised his hand, ready to deliver the serrated knife into my skull.
“Duck!”
I dropped my head.
A hollow blast tore my eardrums and I heard what sounded like paint being splattered over the wall. Pieces of heavy synthetic plating and debris hit my back and legs while I kept my hands protecting my brain. I felt warm slime seep into my clothes. I coughed and nearly threw up onto the floor. I regained some of my composure and looked to the exit. Another man stood in front of me, looking down the sights of a shotgun.
“C’mon! They’re gonna come for ‘im!” said the mysterious savior, lowering his weapon and helping Tara to her feet.
I remained in my heap of filth, shaking. Someone’s entrails were covering me like a spandex leotard, Kelly had been killed, and I was almost impaled by a six-inch blade.
“Will you get it together?” said the man sharply, snatching the enemy’s rifle and walking toward the doors. He had short, brown hair, with heavy eyebrows. His nose and cheeks were cratered and splotchy, which fit his furious stare.
“What about Kelly?” asked Tara with magnified eyes.
“You kiddin’?” he scoffed. “If we lug her around, we’ll be dead before we can make it across the street.”
Tara turned to Kelly’s lifeless body, kneeling above her bloody mess. A giant hole gaped over Kelly’s right eyebrow, slowly oozing blood down her temple. Tara struggled to hold back her wail of shock, putting a hand over the girl’s face and closing the soulless eyes.
“Look, if you two are just going to sit there like a couple of idiots, that’s fine with me. I’m out of here.” The man started for the doors.
I noticed the small storage room to his right where he had most likely been hiding.
“Wait!” I said, pulling myself together. I wiped most of the chum from my clothes and went to grab Tara. “We can’t stay here. Let’s at least get somewhere safe.”
“I . . . I don’t know if I can, Mark,” she replied.
“Yes you can. You’re strong. We can do this,” I said, offering my hand. I was trying extra hard to keep my eyes forward; the headless corpse behind me, littered with blood and brain matter stung my sanity.
She daintily grabbed my hand and we left the gruesome scene behind us. We would have time to disengage later.
“What’s your name?” I asked the stocky fellow.
“Davidson,” he said brusquely, peering into the twilight.
“I’m Mark, and this is Tara,” I said, and thanked him for his arrival.
“I didn’t ask. And you can thank me once we’re safe.”
“Do you know how to use one of these?” said Davidson, holding the sleek rifle. “It’s an MLM-GR assault rifle, but it looks like it’s got some modifications.”
“I can handle it,” I said softly, grasping my new toy. I hadn’t shot a weapon for at least six or seven years, but how hard could pointing and pulling a trigger be?
Covered in a pale steel, with a few glowing lights on the stock, the rifle brimmed with advanced technology. I pulled out the short magazine, checking the number of rounds. Atop the body was a sophisticated sighting system, with built-in zoom capabilities. The suppressor sat flush against the barrel’s chassis. It was armed ready to kill.
“All right,” Davidson said, “we’ve got to move quietly. Let’s hope we can make it to the other block.”
I pulled the rear as we followed Davidson into the antechamber. The darkness outside was overwhelming, a giant smothering blanket. Davidson peered out of the glass and nudged the door open.
A whoosh of air entered the antechamber. I gripped the handle of my MLM tighter and prepared myself for anything. Davidson looked both ways and nodded to us. We hurried behind him and left the Turnmont in our wake.
Manhattan was chaotic. Shouts and echoing voices flowed from all directions. The glowing light of flames surged to our right, still burning from the earlier attack.
“Looks like we got lucky,” said Davidson, lowering his shotgun as we crossed the street.
“We better get rid of these weapons, don’t you think?” asked Tara. Her face was red and her voice sounded as if she were talking through a snorkel.
“If I hadn’t had this shotgun back there, you two’d be lying in your own pool of blood. No way in hell I’m givin’ this up. Tonight changes everything.”
I scrunched my nose. “What do you mean?”
Davidson raised an eyebrow. “Are you two stupid ‘er somethin’? Nothin’ like this has happened since pre-Edge, ‘n now these guys come all dressed up in some sort of high-tech gear, kil
lin’ everythin’ in their path? This is a huge deal.”
Okay, this guy needed to settle down.
“Why would someone do this?” asked Tara, looking back to the Turnmont. The exit doors were still alight, the bodies lying where we had left them.
“Hell if I know,” said Davidson, spitting to the ground. “But one thing’s for sure, GenoTec’ll be all over this place in about five minutes, questionin’ everyone in a ten mile radius.”
“Slate . . .” I mumbled to myself.
“What?” asked Tara.
“Didn’t you hear him? He knew something was gonna happen,” I said, lowering my weapon a little.
More people were piling around the burning building. It was a good thing we were behind a few stranded cars, otherwise someone might have seen our arsenal.
“Archturus Slate?” said Davidson, bewildered. “The CEO of GenoTec was at the Turnmont tonight?” He scoffed.
“He was standing right in front of us,” I rebutted. I turned back to Tara. “Something’s not right.”
“Look,” started Davidson, “you two can have your little pow-wow. I’m not stickin’ ‘round for GenoTec. I would scram too, if I were you.”
I sighed, but realized it was no use. Davidson took off toward the north, keeping his shotgun low and against his leg. I wondered where he had picked up the weapon in the first place.
Tara sighed. “Mark. Kevin’s still in there.”
Her comment was so endearing and real that it invaded my spine and filtered throughout my body.
I shook my head. “Tara I don’t think we can go back.”
She bit her lip, turning to the building. “What do you mean?”
I grabbed her arm, making sure she focused. “Those Collectors led us here . . .”
“No. Slate was there, too. There’s no way GenoTec could be behind this.”
“I don’t want to be right. But I don’t want to take a chance, either.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked desperately.
Suddenly, Tara’s attention turned to the Turnmont doors. She gasped and pulled me down, so only our heads were visible above the car’s hood.
Two men in armored suits stood inside the brightly lit hallway, dealing with their fallen companion. Another came outside, clearly looking for someone.
“We need to run,” I said. “Let’s just get the hell out of here. The east side of town is deserted. Maybe we can lay low for a bit and figure this out without them on our back.”
Tara’s eyes started to pool with tears. She turned back to the glass doors one last time before saying, “Okay. Let’s run.”
13
I was back on the balcony. The card table sat on its side, leaving scattered remnants of my winning game. The floor bounced as people crammed into the emergency exit. I couldn’t move, though. The screaming girl petrified my bones. The blood spurting from her finger sprinkled my shoes.
The young girl, somewhere in her late teens, gasped on her knees. Her shiny dress collected a pool of her own blood, and she started to pass out.
I looked at my chips again. Why hadn’t she done this somewhere else?
Nevertheless, I scooped her into my arms and rushed to the dance floor. By now, most of the people had escaped. In the middle of the large ballroom, security guards were stooped over a wailing girl sitting in her own blood puddle. They looked completely dubious. I looked at the frail girl in my grasp. Her head had fallen into the notch of my neck and chest, and the blood from her finger had stopped.
I lumbered down the staircase, cradling the girl as I descended two steps at a time. On the way down, a larger man with a flannel shirt laid against one of the landing walls.
“Hey!” he screamed, blood covering his pants and right hand.
I stopped out of sheer confusion.
“Please! Help me!” he continued.
I hesitated. “What happened?!”
“Please! I think I’m dying! Something’s happened!”
“Look, I’ve got to get her downstairs. I’m sure help is on the way.”
“No!” he spat. “Don’t leave me!”
He groped at my pant leg as I stepped around his struggling heap. I sure as hell wasn’t going to carry him. As I hurried down the shaft, I heard his horrific pleas for help echoing from above.
“Don’t leave me to die! You’re a monster! Help me! Somebody!”
The memory faded.
I shook my head and found myself in reality again. I don’t know why I had been having those memories lately. I never enjoyed reliving the time I contracted Edge.
The glow of the night cast an eerie mask. Everything seemed to represent how our bodies felt: dark, dreary, and under siege.
The eastern side of Manhattan exuded a haunting atmosphere. No lights, no life, and no armored soldiers. Thank God. It wasn’t exactly considered to be a part of the Dustslum, but still carried the same stagnant atmosphere. If you drew an imaginary line from Central Park all the way to The Cuts, that would be the division. Everything west of that were the survivors, everything east was what we saw now: empty, decrepit monoliths.
Our footsteps echoed off of the skyscrapers like tap shoes on a glass surface. We had been walking down Pearl Street for a good half hour, wondering when it would be far enough.
My mind ripped through its own pages with such intensity that I almost felt dizzy with each new step. Who were those men? That question bored a hole so deep into my cortex that I couldn’t even remember why I was supposed to be feeling sick, or why I was supposed to be freaking out.
I should have been freaking the hell out.
I started to take my options into consideration, peeling them apart. The soldiers could have been terrorists. When the virus exploded across the globe, there were a lot of rogue groups trying to grab any sort of control. But why now? What could make someone suit up, arm up, and blow up a mere apartment complex?
Of course, the most likely answer was Slate. Why Slate? I groaned from another unanswered question. Why GenoTec? Weren’t they curing us? Weren’t they responsible for every good thing about current Edge life? What would killing Slate accomplish anyways? Stop GenoTec from continuing research? Why would anyone want to live in the hell that Edge had created?
Before I could think any more on the matter, I noticed our footsteps were starting to become slower.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“Tired,” said Tara listlessly, watching her feet.
I sighed and stopped. I felt it was far enough.
“There’s a bench over there, c’mon,” I said.
We hobbled over to a small, metal bench resting against an abandoned store. The awning above was ripped in a few places and a random sedan was parked in front.
We sat in silence for a few moments, embracing the chilly air. I rested the rifle against the base of the bench and exhaled deeply. I began to wish we wouldn’t have stopped, because my shin was started to act up. I winced at a sudden throb of pain and reached down to adjust the makeshift bandage.
“How is it?” asked Tara, leaning over to see.
“It’s . . . okay,” I grunted. I finished fiddling with it and sat up. “I know what you’re thinking.”
She looked up at me, confused. “What?”
I grinned. “ ‘Why, oh, why did I call Mark Wenton?’ ”
She smirked. It eventually faded. “Got any ideas yet?”
She leaned out, propping her head with her arms.
I laid back in defeat and exhaled, “Just more questions.”
Tara observed the sedan for a minute. Through a rip in the awning, I could see a few stars blinking. I wished to be up there, away from all of this.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I feel like I’ve led a good life. I’ve done what I felt was right. No matter what I try to do, my life’s been screwed since day one.” A tear rolled down her cheek.
I agreed completely, well, except for the part about doing “right” things.
He
r attempted ponytail was in shambles and traces of soot covered her face. Her jeans were ripped and burn marks adorned her boots. I probably looked a lot worse.
Warmth exploded from my chest and my heart rate quickened. I reached over and placed my hand on hers.
“Tara,” I said, “we’re gonna be okay.”
She looked up at me. Even with the dim light of the moon and her unkempt appearance, she was still beautiful. Her hand grasped mine and she smiled faintly. “I’m glad you’re with me.”
I wished I were better with words. Maybe I could have comforted her more. But I was never one to sugar coat things. I had no idea if we would be okay. Frankly, I was still paranoid that we were being followed. We needed hope. Well, we really needed answers, invincibility, and probably a tank or something—but realistically, we needed hope.
The two of us sat there in the twilight, drifting off into the stage between sleep and awake. The pain in my leg became stronger and more frequent as time passed. My muscles ached, my lungs were ragged from breathing in God knows what, and my massive headache tied everything together. Before I could register another conspiracy theory, my head drooped and the world turned to black.
A low rumble pierced the silence. My eyes sprang open. Tara’s head rested on my shoulder, breathing slowly. I blinked multiple times and feared how long we had been asleep.
“Tara!” I whispered. She twitched and lifted her head.
“What’s going on?” she said, groggily. I was already to my feet.
“Something’s coming! Hurry! We’ve got to hide!”
Fear and adrenaline electrified her.
I scooped up the MLM-GR and slung the strap around my shoulder. We spent no time hesitating as we weaved in and out of strewn cars, trying to keep low. I strained my eyes in the darkness, looking for a place to hide. As we progressed through a large opening in the street, I spotted an old, abandoned building.
“Over here,” I whispered.
At the base of the giant skyscraper, a broken window towered over us with boards spread across its crevasse. Some of them were smashed, which gave us a small entrance. I scrambled into the little hole first, setting my rifle down to help Tara in.
