by T. C. Edge
“That’s where you wanna be,” he tells me. “Walter operates off the main market at the back of that train. Don’t mention I told you…”
“I won’t,” I say. “And thank you.”
He nods and continues to busy himself with his stocks, before turning to another customer who slips in from the crowd.
As I move off to the rear of the station, I find the new guard eyeing me closely, just like the last. This one, however, isn’t particularly large. Instead, his piercing gaze, eyes like lights and visible from a distance, suggest he’s a Hawk. And quite possibly a hybrid himself.
To his side, the shape of a large gun, hidden beneath his cloak, makes it clear he means business. I see his hands reach down and take a firmer handle of the weapon as I approach.
“I’m here to see Walter,” I say confidently.
“He’s busy,” comes a quick, terse reply.
“No,” comes mine. His eyes narrow. “I’ve come too far today to be turned away. Tell him Brenda Carmichael sent me. Tell him it’s important.”
He considers me a second.
“Wait here.”
Turning, he opens up the door and disappears inside. A few moments later, the door opens again, and he nods me in. I enter, and look down the gloomy interior, a broken down wreck of a train, similar to the one I passed through beneath the surface of the city two nights ago.
At the end, a desk awaits, a single lamp glowing upon it. And behind it, a middle-aged, balding man with sleek eyes and an oddly friendly countenance. His face appears to carry a natural smile that seems at odds with his surroundings, and the tense nature of the situation.
“You’re here on Brenda’s behalf?” he asks, his voice bounding towards me from the other end of the train. “Come here, girl…step into the light.”
I begin moving towards him as the guard re-assumes his vigil outside.
He watches me come, eyes scanning me with interest. Then, they open a little, and he begins nodding, seemingly haven drawn some conclusion from my appearance.
“So it’s you, is it,” he says. “You’re the one Brenda’s been buying my medication for…”
It’s not a question, but a statement.
Still I answer with a nod.
“Curious that you’re here. She only came a few days ago to refill her stocks. I sense this is about something else. The truth, perhaps. Is that what you’re here for?”
“I’m here for information,” I say.
“And your name?”
I hesitate for a second. He laughs, a throaty gurgle emptying into the room.
“You can trust me, girl. We’re on the same side.”
“The Nameless?” I ask. “Are you with them?”
“I fear you don’t know how this works,” comes his swift voice. “I asked you a question. It’s courtesy to answer before asking your own.”
“I…I’m sorry. My name’s Brie.”
A new smile flourishes on his crinkly face.
“Yes, I know,” he says. “Even in these dark corners, we saw the footage from the ceremony the other day. Merely tying your hair back isn’t enough to shield your look.”
“I’m not trying to shield it,” I say. “Not to you.”
“Good. Honesty is something I appreciate. Now, to your question…yes, I am with the Nameless. That is no particular secret to the people around here.”
“So you’re a…a hybrid?”
“Oh no, just a man,” he says. “The Nameless are not only hybrids. We are comprised of people from all walks of life. My path brought me here long ago. Now, I help manufacture and sell the drugs that offer people sanctuary from the Consortium’s iron rule. People like you, Brie. And yet…here you are. What is it you want to know from me?”
“Like I say, just information. I’m looking for someone…one of your people. He came to me two nights ago, set me on this track. It was him who told me what I am. And I need to know more.”
“I see. And Brenda truly knows you’re here?” he questions.
I pull out the glasses from my bag and show them to him.
“Yes, she gave me these, told me to follow the markings and find you. She trusts you, clearly, but not this boy. She wants to know if he’s with you…”
“And his name?”
I slip the glasses back into the bag.
“Zander,” I say.
Walter peers at me again, before a frown settles over his eyes. Then, as he’s about to speak, the door thrusts open behind me, and I turn to see the guard pace aboard the derelict train.
His piercing eyes are wide in the shadows, his hands now primed around his pulse rifle.
“Sir, we have to go...” he says fiercely.
“What’s going on?” asks Walter, standing.
The guard doesn’t need to answer.
Because, right on the other side of the station, a clattering sound answers for him.
Gunfire.
24
Walter shoots down the train and to the exit, dragging me along with him.
“We have to get you out of here, Brie. This isn’t safe. You should never have come.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, a panic setting in me.
“They’ve tracked the market. No one here is safe.”
Drawing a handgun from his jacket, he stops at the doorway alongside his bodyguard. The Hawk stands on the threshold, guiding his gaze to the space beyond, hastily analysing our escape routes.
Standing behind them both, I get a few glimpses into the distance, the cavernous space now echoing with a mixture of gunfire and screaming and the hurrying of escaping bodies.
The dim hall lights occasionally with flashes as the weapons sing their song, some chattering as they spew lead bullets, others pulsing as red and blue blasts of energy rip from their rifles. A mixture of the old and the new, but all with the same deadly result.
Pain. Injury. Death. That’s all these mechanisms of war bring.
Around here, however, the people aren’t likely to stand down without a fight. By the looks of things, many of the illegal vendors are packing, along with the various guards here to protect them and the market itself. Hidden inside stalls and behind heavy jackets, more weapons are swung to join the fight.
From inside the train, I spy many people firing back towards the far end of the old station, covering their retreats. Primarily, their weapons appear to be the older variety, their magazines stocked with only a certain capacity of bullets.
The enemy, meanwhile, will be carrying their pulse rifles and handguns, their energy clips and magazines capable of firing an almost continual barrage of red and blue rounds. In a battle of attrition, there’s only one winner.
It only takes the Hawk a few seconds to quickly assess the surroundings. Walter stands to his side, holding a pulse gun of his own, looking out upon the carnage.
“Astor…we need to go!” he says to his guard, still peering out.
“Yes, sir. The north exit. Stay behind me. Both of you.”
Following Astor out of the train, we immediately turn right, moving around the edge of the interior of the cavernous old station. I spare a glance behind, peering past tall pillars and the many stalls, and see the shape of the Con-Cops advancing, several dozen of them spreading in down the long tunnel I entered through.
But they’re not alone. With them I spy others, the dark black-armoured figures of those I know to be Stalkers. They slash in, cutting a path into the hall at a devastating pace, quickly immobilising people as they attempt to flee or fight back.
Running onwards, we join a small group fleeing in the same direction. Panic spreads throughout the building, all available exits sought out by those with a more intimate knowledge of the area. Walter and Astor are clearly two such men, their place among the Nameless making this area of the city familiar to them.
Flashing his eyes backwards occasionally, and with his pulse rifle perpetually primed, Astor continues to drive us further towards the rear, Walter ushering me along and sticking close by. S
oon enough, we’re heading through a series of rooms and into another long passageway, retreating from the fighting through a network that to any other person might seem like a maze.
Pressing on, we reach a door and pass through onto the street, reaching the open air once more. I search left and right down the dimly lit alley, and see a few more shadows rushing away in either direction.
Customers escaping back to the safety of their other quarters. Merchants slipping away down streets they know well. Other Disposables, caught amid the fighting, trying to seek refuge as they sink deeper into the darkness of these forgotten streets.
Or at least that’s what I thought. These streets clearly aren’t forgotten by the people here. By the Disposables who call them home. By the Nameless who use them to sneak around in the shadows. Even by the Con-Cops and the forces of Inner Haven, waging their unseen battle down here, behind the curtain and concealed from the general population.
Amid the fleeing shadows, however, others come seeking us out. As we move left, reaching a slightly wider street littered with derelict old buildings and rusty, antique cars, we catch sight of a fresh platoon of Con-Cops covering the rear of the station.
We switch direction, Astor’s keen gaze helping us pace through the darkness at speed, our footfall slapping the concrete streets and creating a map of our presence that specialised Enhanced could follow. I’ve heard that Bats, with their supernatural sense of hearing, are quite capable of using nothing but their ears to determine the location of a single person across several city blocks, even if they’re hidden out of sight.
All they need in a single footstep, and they can zero in on their quarry. And right now, all three of us are being extremely noisy as we run…
And that’s to say nothing of Sniffers, our colloquial name for the Enhanced with an extraordinary sense of smell. The same sort of principle applies with them. Once they catch a scent, it can be pretty tricky evading them, particularly when they work in league with other Enhanced.
I can only imagine what a Stalker made from all those types of Enhanced would be like. Dashers and Hawks and Sniffers and Bats. Maybe even throw in a bit of Brute blood for good measure.
Truly, they’d be unstoppable…
Still, there’s nothing we can do but run, just like the many hundreds across the district. With so many sights and smells and sounds assaulting the senses of the Stalkers, we might just be able to sneak away unnoticed.
Or not.
As we come around a corner, I have no time to react as a flashing figure flows in from down the street, a blur of black as the man looms in front of me. Then another, storming in, weapon primed and ready to strike.
I stumble back, and notice Walter doing the same. Only Astor, with his keen eyes, is able to see them coming, lifting his weapon to send rounds of pulsing energy right at them.
But it’s no good. They’re too close, and too quick.
They dodge his blasts, swinging immobilisers from their belts as they come. With a couple of thrusts, Astor’s body gets zapped. I sit helpless on the ground as sizzling darts of blue lightning appear to spread around his body, his limbs growing stiff and straight and his entire frame immobile.
Then, as he falls to the ground, eyes still narrow and searching, but body unable to move, the two Stalkers turn on Walter and me. For the first time, I get a good look at one of these hybrid hunters, their eyes dim behind their black helmets, their bodies wreathed in sleek black armour.
Both step forward, one towards me, the other towards Walter, brandishing their menacing rods as blue lightning dances around their ends. Neither of us are able to do anything, caught up by this sudden and devastating attack on the market, sweeping in and scooping up those who linger in the shadows of the city.
I wonder how many have been caught, or even killed. And for those who are merely snared in the net, who will be executed, and who will be sent for reconditioning?
I can think of few worse fates than being taken in and turned into a Con-Cop, or another servile slave of the state. If they find out I’m actually a hybrid, I’ll no doubt be executed.
Personally, I’d prefer that than the alternative.
Caught at their feet with nowhere to go, I can do nothing but shut my eyes and wait to be zapped. I’ve heard being stung by an immobiliser is a horrible experience. Not painful, just horrifying.
With one tap, every muscle fibre on your body is turned rigid, every part of you locked in place in whatever position you happen to be adopting. But you don’t lose consciousness. You merely have to endure your temporary paralysis, not knowing how long it will last, carted off like a living statue with your future presided over by those with no sense of compassion or empathy for your plight.
As the Stalker comes at me, I instinctively shut my eyes, despite knowing that doing so will lock me into the darkness as well. But I’m unable to stop myself, ducking my head, closing up my body into a contorted, protective position that will no doubt be incredibly uncomfortable when fastened in place.
Eyes closed tight, I await the terrible zap, my heart rate flaring to unprecedented levels.
Nothing happens.
Are they toying with me? Will they spare me the torture of being immobilised?
A rush of air, flowing past my cheek, presents an answer. I can hear Walter exclaiming loudly to my side, and creak open my eyes to see that a third figure has appeared before us.
The flow of air signalled his introduction. He moves like a whirlwind, his body a blur as he tangles with the two Stalkers. I can barely make out what’s happening before, suddenly, he stops and grows visible in front of my eyes.
And as he stands ahead of me with his back turned, the two Stalkers become visible too, collapsing into mounds of black armour on the concrete floor at his feet, knocked out cold.
The figure turns and reaches down to me, and I see the keen hazel eyes of Zander staring into mine.
“Hi there, Brie,” he says casually.
“Zander…” I whisper. “How…how did you find me?!”
“Instinct,” he says quickly, pulling me up to my feet. “We’d better get you out of here. You too, Walter,” he adds, turning to the chemist, who creakily stands from the dirt.
As he does so, Zander moves over and kneels down beside Astor. He conducts a quick check as Walter says: “He got zapped,” as if that needed explaining.
I watch the proceedings, still feeling in a slight state of shock, my breathing hard and pulse soaring and body trembling in a way it’s never done so before. I feel as if I might just pass out as I watch Zander pull out a little device from his belt and set one end to Astor’s neck.
Shaped like a wide pen, Zander presses a button on the other end, and a little shock appears to pulse through Astor’s body. The reaction is immediate, just as quick as that of the immobiliser. This particular device appears to offer an antidote, his limbs relaxing and eyes blinking and body coming back to life.
A remobiliser…
With a groan, he sits back up as Zander stands and moves back to me.
“Did they see you,” he asks me, eyes fierce and probing.
“What do you mean…”
“Your face? Did they see your face? Did they recognise you?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Truly, I hadn’t thought about it. In the heat of the moment, I wasn’t exactly caring if they’d recognised me from the ceremony. But, now that I think about it, it could be important. Very important.
If they did, then I have no chance of going back to the academy. If they know who I am, and who I was with, then tonight has turned me into an outlaw.
A rebel.
A Nameless.
The reaction on my face makes my concerns clear to Zander.
“OK,” he says, rounding on the two downed Stalkers. “It’s not a problem. I can fix it.”
“Fix it?” I ask. “You mean...kill them?”
“That’s the easiest option,” he says. “I’d shield your eyes, Brie�
��”
I shake my head.
“I’ve seen people die,” I say defiantly. “I’m not afraid.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, withdrawing his own pulsar gun from a sheath on his belt.
He aims the weapon right at the heads of the two Stalkers, firing two blue shots of energy, one after another in quick succession. There’s something methodical about his actions, the systematic murder of two men having no impact on him at all.
He turns back to me as I watch the blue haze fade around the freshly cut holes in their heads.
“Now what the hell are you doing here, Brie?! I told you to stay safe back at the academy!”
“I came looking for you. I need to know more, Zander! I need to know everything!”
His eyes soften a little, and a smile arches gently across his lips.
“And you will,” he says. “But not here. We need to get off the streets. It’s not safe around these parts, and you can be sure that two dead Stalkers will cause a fuss.”
“Then where?” I ask.
His eyes sweep to the north, right towards the boundary of the city and the outside world beyond. And a single word issues from his mouth.
“Home,” he says.
25
We venture further north, the fighting behind us growing distant to our ears. Around us, the streets grow darker than ever, a dead space with no functioning streetlights, no advertising boards.
Here, only the natural light of the moon and stars, or the occasional fire flickering down an alley, give shape to the buildings. A derelict portion of an otherwise flourishing city, left to rot by those in power.
Running alongside Zander, it becomes evident that his position among the Nameless has been fully confirmed, and Mrs Carmichael’s concerns assuaged. He gets caught up with what happened from Walter and Astor, who tell him the attack was sudden and unexpected.
“They’re growing more bold, more aggressive,” says Walter. “It’s escalation after the hijacking at the ceremony…”
“Someone must have talked, or been followed,” says Astor. He glances at me, and I feel compelled to defend myself.
