Black_Tide

by Patrick Freivald

  Matt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The whispers shrieked and laughed as he tore the flesh from her face and stuffed it into her screaming mouth. He opened them. "He has my son, my baby boy. I just want my son back, that's all."

  She stood, smoothed her dress down, walked to the door and opened it. "As do I, Matt. As do I. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a book that won't read itself. Good day."

  Matt stalked out, fuming. Sakura waited until they got back to the hotel to ask what had happened.

  * * *

  The heat of the caves helped strip the cold from Murdock Yardley's bones. Ever since his Augs had failed, he couldn't get warm, no matter how many blankets he wore. They said the nerve bundles would help, and maybe they did, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Sweat streamed down his face from the heat radiating through the wall, the fifty-year-old fire on the other side bathing the whole area in blessed warmth.

  The phone rang twice in his head. Murdock answered it with a thought, the graphine-coated gold tendrils interfacing his brain and the mechanical suit taking care of the connection with no effort on his part.

  "Hi, Mom." His voice reverberated through the natural chamber two octaves lower than a normal man's.

  "Hey, baby-cakes. Matt Rowley came looking for you today. Says you've done all sorts of terrible things."

  Servos whined as the hydraulic pumps actuated the metal cages that held his legs, carrying him across the room in a lumbering parody of human walking. "How could I do terrible things, Mom? I can't even stand."

  "I said as much, but he didn't listen. Made up some story about you being a kidnapper. Just figured you'd want to know."

  "Thanks."

  "I love you, pookums. Be good."

  "Love you, too, Ma."

  He killed the connection, picked up a boulder the size of a basketball in mechanical hands that almost mimicked the feeling of human nerves, and tossed it up a few times like a boy with a softball. Murdock looked down at the little man in a suit in front of him. "You're sure they traced the call?"

  "My office set it up." Special Agent In-Charge Shane Keene smiled. "Remember the deal—we need Sakura alive."

  "As long as I get to kill Rowley, you can have your plaything."

  He closed his fist. The sandstone cracked, then crumbled.

  Murdock Yardley smiled for the first time in a year.

  * * *

  Monica met him at the door, her face a mask of I-don't-want-to-tell-you-what's-wrong.

  "Hey, baby." He held her and kissed her hair, kicking the door shut with his boot before Ted could sneak out to chase squirrels he'd never, ever catch. "We know he's alive, we know where he is. We're almost there."

  "Where is he?"

  He thought about what to tell her and landed on owing her the truth. Most of the truth. "Do you remember Murdock Yardley?"

  "The agent who attacked us when I was in the hospital."

  "Yeah. Sounds like he's got a vendetta against me, blames me for being in the shape he's in."

  Monica squeezed him. "You are to blame for the shape he's in."

  "True. If I hadn't destroyed Gerstner's machine he'd have—" He caught himself before using "bonked out" in front of his wife. "He'd have had a psychotic break by now and would have been put down."

  "There's that." She held him a moment. "So Yardley took our son?"

  "Looks like he paid some people to do it, yeah."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to get him back, and I'm going to kill Yardley and everyone who's helping him."

  She shook her head against his chest. "No, don't do it like that. Let him live. Let him live in that bloated body for as long as God lets him. Let him suffer."

  He pulled back to look her in the eyes. "Baby, that's not the person you want to be. Sometimes people have to die, but they never have to suffer, not if you can avoid it."

  Again her eyes screamed at him while her voice said nothing.

  "What aren't you telling me?"

  She looked down, screwed her toe into the floorboards. "Jason came here the other night." She held a finger to his lips to keep him from interrupting. "Babbling all crazy-like about fallen angels and how Gerstner's setting you up. He told me not to tell you, said telling you's the way to screw it all up. But I trust you, baby, and I want you to know what he said."

  He pulled her close again. "Okay. What did he say?"

  "He said you're going to kill someone and it's going to push you over the edge."

  Matt thought about the people he'd killed early that morning and felt nothing but righteousness. They'd taken his son, raped his wife, planned to do more. They'd courted death and gotten what they deserved. "I'm okay, baby. I'll be okay."

  * * *

  Naked, Janet held the cat to her breast, stroking its head to calm it. The pentagram glowed in the candlelight, the chalk a ruddy mix of red and brown. She lifted the heavy creature by the scruff, held it over her head, and inserted the knife just below its throat. It kicked and writhed, shredding her wrist with its claws, but with one fluid motion she drew the knife down. Blood and entrails spilled from the dying creature, drenching her face and hair, running down her spine and between her breasts.

  The blood sizzled where it touched the Jade Cross tattooed across her back, filling the room with the delicious and nauseating smells of cooking meat and boiling blood.

  She swallowed everything that fell into her mouth, choking down the hot viscera while chewing as little as possible. Gagging, she dropped to her knees. The cat twitched on the floor, eyes wide, chest heaving, trying to scream with ruined lungs.

  Blood streamed from her nose, eyes, and mouth.

  IT ISN'T ENOUGH. Her brother's voice battered through her skull, rending sense and sanity, both less and more than it had ever been.

  She shook her head. "It's all you'll get, D. I'm not sacrificing children, not even for you."

  I can't remain with what you give me. It isn't enough.

  "Then take it," she snarled. "Rowley's a walking breach, an open door you just have to step through. I can see the conduits, white and jade. Pick a path and take it."

  SHE IS THERE.

  Blood leaked from her ears, black and thick like motor oil used too long. In the window the sun went out and wind howled through the room. Struggling to hold on to any vestige of herself, Janet latched onto what defined her relationship with her brother.

  With equal parts love and scorn, she laughed. "I never took you for a coward."

  You don't understand.

  "I understand all too well, D. You're afraid. Well, so be it. Fade to nothing. Give up everything you've fought for. Surrender to the Pit, let Gerstner have you after all these years, consume your frightened little soul to free another of her precious egregoroi. Wither and fade, give up and die, end life as you began it, naked and screaming and helpless."

  The wind died to a whisper.

  Sister, why are you so cruel?

  "I've given you more than you've ever had a right to. And I will bring you back but not by whatever it takes. I will not kill children to give you the strength. We'll find another way."

  * * *

  The dark brown motel off Route 61 looked like a mountain cabin had gotten out of hand. A massive gray chimney rose out of the kitchen, offering the broken promise of brick-oven food. It also happened to be the only thing breaking up the flat brown of the roof, siding, and trim. The parking lot smelled like fry oil and diesel exhaust.

  "Home sweet home," Matt said.

  Agent Keene threw up his hands. "Hey, man, don't blame me. This is the closest place to Centralia with public lodging."

  Centralia, Pennsylvania's, only claim to fame consisted of an underground fire in a coal mine that had started in 1962 and spread uncontrollably through hundreds of acres of tunnels, burning ever since. Sinkholes, toxic levels of carbon monoxide, and basements heated to a hundred-plus degrees had persuaded all but a few diehards to take a 1984 government buyout and leave town
.

  Matt wondered how much Yardley knew, to choose a flaming pit for his hideout.

  The sign out front boasted, "Hells Mouth Nacho's $3.99!" and "Seafood Wednesday's are ON!" and "Mt. Carmel Cake with real carmel!"

  "This place is disgusting." Sakura wiped a sheen of grease off the chimney on the way by.

  "Yelp gave it almost two stars," Keene said. "Compared to some of the dives I've had to crash in, this is paradise."

  "That's unfortunate." Matt followed Sakura, desperately happy it wasn't Wednesday.

  The inside had little enough to offer. At three o'clock on a Friday, a half-dozen people sat at the bar, and a young couple occupied a booth in the gloomy, dated dining room. As they walked in, everyone looked at them and then turned back to their food and drinks.

  Matt scanned the crowd for anyone from Salomon's dossiers while Sakura ran license plates on her tablet.

  They paid for adjacent rooms, one for Matt and Keene, and one for Sakura—the same one used by Anita Yardley on the three occasions she'd stayed there. Matt entered his room and admired the sad, flat pillows, threadbare comforter, and chairs with foam bursting out their seams. At least it didn't smell like cat pee.

  They settled in and brought out the computers, using Matt's bed as a makeshift operations suite. They had little to go on—Yardley's cell phone didn't have GPS enabled, and neither UPSTREAM nor CO-TRAVELER could give them a specific location, so they had to settle for "somewhere around Centralia, PA." They'd tracked medical equipment a man in Yardley's condition might need and turned up nothing.

  A truck roared by on 61, the thin walls doing little to muffle the noise. With their FOB a Marine Reserves barracks an hour away in Harrisburg, it'd have to do.

  "So what's first?" Keene asked.

  "Less than six thousand people live in this town. First thing we do is show some pictures around and see if anyone recognizes any of our perps."

  Keene looked out the window. "You don't think that might tip them off?"

  Matt shrugged. "They're already tipped off. There's no way Yardley isn't smart enough to know that we tapped his mom's phone before dropping by."

  The FBI agent gaped like a fish. "So you think it's a trap?"

  "Of course it's a trap. He took my son for bait, used easily traceable mercenaries from a legitimate company, and then took a call from his mother on an unencrypted cell phone. It's got exactly the subtlety I'd expect from that sadistic meathead. Thing is, he's always been smarter than he lets on."

  Keene stood and looked out the window. "So what if he just blows the place up with a drone?"

  Sakura shook her head. "In seven years with ICAP, Yardley never once used a firearm or explosive device. He's a warrior, not a soldier."

  Keene furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure I know the difference."

  "When war ends, soldiers go home to their lives. Warriors find another war, because that is their lives."

  Matt leaned in. "Yardley likes to kill. Loves it. But it has to be up close and personal, brutal and bloody and physical. He may not be able to come for us himself, but he'll at least make it something he can watch. No, the only drone strikes anyone has to worry about are ours."

  Keene frowned. "So the plan is to bait Yardley into attacking and then take him out?"

  Matt sighed. "I don't care about Yardley. I just want my son."

  "Okay, so how do we find him?"

  * * *

  John Murray frowned down into the crevasse. Hot smoke trickled out of the sinkhole, the smell and the deadly vapors imperceptible through his gas mask. The ground shifted under his feet, so he backpedaled away from the natural deathtrap straight into a tree, leaves withered to a late-October brown.

  "Sergeant," Todd Nelsen said.

  Murray turned. "What is it, Corporal?"

  "This place gives me the fucking creeps."

  "Acknowledged." A city boy by birth and upbringing, he found the deep woods freaky enough without pits of fire emerging out of the ground, scattered buildings crumbling between streets overtaken by plant-life. For the sake of morale, he didn't see the value in agreeing with more vigor. "Take your team to the next intersection."

  "Rah, Sergeant." Nelsen turned and screamed.

  Murray whirled, jerking up his M-4, but Nelsen had already fired his M203. The massive shadow batted away the grenade and charged. It exploded behind the monstrosity.

  Twelve feet tall, the humanoid form grabbed Nelsen with a huge claw. The fireteam leader exploded in sprays of blood, severed chunks dropping to the ground as the beast laughed. An M27 chattered behind Murray, the bullets pinging off the burnished metal plates. He fired, backpedaling.

  His stomach lurched, the ground disappeared beneath him.

  Hot gas seared his lungs, and daylight disappeared. He scrambled for purchase on crumbling rock walls hot enough to blister his fingers. Skin bubbled, his uniform caught fire. Then the high-explosive rounds on his bandoleer detonated.

  * * *

  Matt held up a fist. Seeing it, Sakura froze. Keene took two more steps, then stopped when she grabbed his arm.

  Idiot.

  She heard it then, the distinct chatter of automatic weapons, something light like a 5.56mm just at the edge of hearing. The ground shuddered. Matt bolted. She turned to follow, and Keene grabbed her wrist.

  "Wait!"

  She jerked free as the sound from the explosion reached them, and raised her combat visor to look him in the eyes. "What?"

  "Don't leave me out here on my own. I'm not combat trained."

  She rolled her eyes and slapped a hand to the side of her neck at a sharp pain. Keene jerked his hand away, flinging something small and glass into the brush. She stepped after him, and her knees gave way, pitching her to the forest floor.

  "I have to help Matt," she mumbled. She struggled to open her eyes, to stand up, but her body wouldn't cooperate. ". . . can't do it himself."

  He pulled off her helmet and tossed it into the brush. "Sorry, Sakura. Rowley's not my problem."

  Thoughts wouldn't form on her tongue, so they came out a jumble of English and Japanese. Rough hands hog-tied her, but she couldn't feel the bonds, only a vague sense of discomfort as he wrenched her limbs around.

  ". . . kill you . . ."

  "Maybe some other time. Go to sleep."

  She did.

  * * *

  Matt came upon the remains of the squad, a dozen men in hundreds of parts, the foliage painted red with their blood. Huge marks gouged the trees, and something had left tracks strong enough to mar the asphalt as it had crossed the road.

  "Sakura, are you getting this?"

  She didn't reply, so he switched his HUD to her helmet camera. It took him a moment to resolve the image, an ultra-close view of tree bark.

  "Sakura?" Nothing. He followed the tracks of the massive whatever-it-was. "Janet, a hand, please?"

  "What's up, Matt?"

  "Can you do a rewind on Sakura's feed, tell me what just happened?"

  "Moment."

  The tracks stopped at a hole in the ground, a crevasse right out of a horror movie. Tendrils of black smoke rose from it, wiggling their way under Matt's helmet to tickle his nose and the back of his throat.

  "Can't tell. She watched you run off, then slapped a hand up to her neck."

  "She's with Keene. Where are they going?"

  "I don't know. She took it off, dropped it on the ground."

  "Delta squad is dead. Send Alpha and Bravo after Sakura and Keene, and route Charlie to my position. We've got to deal with whatever did this."

  "Will do."

  The ground rumbled. He looked into the pit, which glowed bright in the infrared spectrum, maybe a hundred and thirty degrees. "Shit. Janet?"

  "Go ahead."

  "Belay that order on Charlie. Send them after Sakura. There's no way they'd survive this heat. I'm going in."

  "Roger that."

  He clambered down crumbling rock into the pit, sweat evaporating as fast as it could spring
from his pores. A tunnel wound downward, glowing way too hot. He set off, navigating by ultraviolet which turned the pitch darkness into a blue-black outline as he followed the thing deeper into the caves.

  Chapter 17

  Monica followed Jason Rees into the pit, rock scree crumbling under her hands and feet. Her Vietnam-era gas mask fogged with her breath, making it next to impossible to see even with the LED lamps on top spearing the darkness.

  Jason walked with confidence he had no right to, not in this light, not with never having been here before. "He's this way. Hurry! We have to get there before Matt does."

  She stumbled through the rough, hot chambers after him, her faith in him shakier than his faith in whatever-this-was. The walls closed in, black slate and dark gray siltstone, oppressive in their drab majesty. The unbearable heat sucked the energy from her, and the gallon of water she carried on her hips would last only so long.

  The ground rumbled, and dust fell from the walls. "We're going to die down here."

  He turned and grabbed her shoulders, eyes bugged out behind his mask. "No. You must believe. He'll keep us safe."

  Monica scowled. "Adam is not some messiah, Jason. He's just a little boy. A scared little boy who needs his momma."

  "Right. Exactly." His tone told her nothing. He turned and scrambled down a narrow tunnel into a wide room, then up into another. With no choice at this point, she followed.

  "This place is huge." Her clothes clung to her body, but she didn't yet dare take a sip of water.

  "Yes," he said. "There are hundreds of miles of tunnels, only a fraction of which right around Centralia are on fire. The rest rumble and stink but aren't connected to the tunnel that's on fire, at least not yet. In a couple hundred years, who knows?"

  "Hundreds of miles of tunnels."

  "Yes."

  "And you won't get us lost."

  "No. We won't get lost."

  She followed, a prayer on her lips.