Berserker (Messenger Book 2)

by James Walker

  Janice didn't wait for him to unleash a second fusillade. In a panic, she took advantage of the brief reprieve to bolt through an open doorway. She stumbled into the wrecked remains of a deserted living room, everything of value gone and only the scattered debris of ruined furniture remaining. She collapsed against an inner door, breathing hard, struggling to regain her composure.

  Suddenly, she was thrown face first onto the dirty floor. She rolled onto her side and glanced sideways to see that a hulking shadow had thrown the door open, a dirty butcher's knife gleaming in its hand. The shadow advanced on her, readying its knife to strike.

  Whimpering in fear, Janice scrambled to her feet and stumbled away from her attacker. Somehow, she managed to throw off her backpack and fumble her knife out of its sheath. She raised her weapon in a defensive posture and shouted for help, but the continued report of gunfire from outside suggested that her companions were too busy to come to her aid.

  Janice's rear foot came in contact with the wall, and she realized she had been backed into a corner. Her attacker lunged. She forced him back with a few wild swings, struggling to remember her knife lessons with Cena. She raised her knife and waited for her assailant to attack again so she could counter.

  The attacker came on with terrifying speed, slashing his knife back and forth in a blur. Janice flailed her knife an effort to catch his wrist or arm, but she failed to make contact, whereas her own arms screamed with stinging pain as her opponent opened numerous cuts on her forearms. Blood flew everywhere, and panic threatened to make her freeze up.

  Sensing a chance, the attacker shifted his stance and lunged, aiming a thrust at Janice's heart. A flicker of muscle memory from her sparring sessions kicked in, and she sidestepped the blow and raked her knife across her opponent's arm, opening a deep wound. He screamed in pain and his knife fell from his hand.

  Janice shifted her grip to plunge her knife into her assailant's ribcage, but she never got the chance as he shoved her head into the wall hard enough to make her see stars, then dragged her to the ground. The surprise of the impact caused her to drop her knife.

  Her attacker straddled her, grabbed her by the hair, and rammed her head into the floor, then pulled her forward to repeat the process. Terror flashed through her mind at the realization that she could die, right now, her head beaten into a bloody pulp by this thug, if she didn't do something.

  In that instant, her fear morphed into something darker. Hatred. Rage. After everything she had been subjected to, the thought that this street thug, this remorseless killer might go on living while her body rotted in a bloody pile filled her with a fury that she could only describe as demonic.

  “If you wish to reject your humanity, take the monster's hand in yours, and bring it into yourself.”

  There it was. That damn voice again. But Janice had to admit, it seemed like good advice in these circumstances, whatever the hell it meant.

  Screaming with rage, her normally musical voice amplified to the howl of a cornered beast, Janice jammed her thumb into her assailant's eye and simultaneously brought her knee up into his groin with all the strength she could muster. She kneed him a second time; then as his strength flagged, she brought her foot up to his stomach and kicked him off, sending him sprawling.

  She could barely see through the red haze clouding her vision, but that did nothing to hinder her as she swept her knife off the ground, lunged for her attacker, and plunged the blade up to its hilt into his solar plexus. Then she ripped the blade out, reversed her grip, and stabbed him twice more in the chest. Finally, she raked the knife through his throat, spattering herself with blood as he collapsed in a frothing heap at her feet.

  Though her breath came in ragged gasps and her head and arms throbbed with pain, Janice felt strangely calm. She wiped the blood off her knife on the clothes of her dying assailant, then replaced it in its sheath and retrieved her backpack. She peered through the open doorway and saw Tinubu sitting on some steps while Cena looked at his arm. Cena's backpack lay to the side, its contents scattered on the ground. Two bullets had lodged deep within the thick fabric of a rolled-up sleeping bag; another had penetrated a full water pouch and then lodged in a metal tin; and a fourth had deflected off a hatchet, scuffing the blade. Deciding that the coast looked clear, Janice emerged from the wreckage of the former residence and stepped out onto the street.

  “There you are,” Tinubu called. “We were about to go looking for you since we got separated in the scuffle. Good to see you're—my god, what happened to you?”

  Cena looked up and her eyes widened in shock at the sight of Janice's bloodstained figure, the sleeves of her jacket torn to ribbons. “Blinding Light, Blondie,” she exclaimed, “are you all right?”

  “I'll live,” Janice replied in a dead voice. “Finish tending to Tinubu first.”

  Suddenly, her unnatural calm began to lift and a flood of horror rose to take its place. Her hands began to tremble and bile rose in her throat. Before she could stop herself, she stumbled to the side of the alley and puked her guts out while tears poured from her eyes.

  “My injury can wait,” Tinubu said. “Go help her.”

  Cena ran to Janice's side and helped her sit down as soon as she was finished being ill. She looked first at Janice's head, probing her wounds with her hands, then took off Janice's jacket and inspected her arms.

  “Got a couple nasty lumps on your head,” she remarked. “And your arms are a mess. I'll clean the wounds as best I can, then apply clotter and some bandages.”

  While Cena applied some hasty first aid, Janice asked, “What happened to Tinubu? Is he OK?”

  “Took a shot in the arm,” Tinubu said. “Luckily, it was just a graze. Bullet passed clean through.”

  Janice turned her gaze upward and asked, “What happened to the guy on the roof?”

  “I took care of him.”

  Vic appeared at the end of the alley, holding his knife in one hand and a handgun in the other. “While he was busy using Tinubu for target practice, I climbed up the back and took him out from behind.”

  “At least now we got some guns,” Cena said. “Not much ammo, though. They're pretty light caliber, too, but that probably saved my hash, so I ain't complaining.”

  After several minutes, she finished treating Janice's wounds and helped her to her feet. “That'll do for now,” she said, “but once we're out of danger, some of those cuts on your arms are gonna need stitches. We'll want to keep you on antibiotics for a while, too.”

  Tinubu looked from one side of the alley to the other, frowning. “Shit,” he said, “we're down a man. Where did Hector run off to?”

  “Sorry for the wait,” came the familiar gravelly voice. “I was busy chasing a particularly elusive rat.”

  Hector appeared at the opposite end of the alley from Vic, propelling the hooded girl ahead of him with one hand and carrying her sword in the other. He pushed her to the center of the alley and then threw her on her face in the middle of the group. She pushed herself into a sitting position and met the hostile stares of her would-be victims. Despite the rough treatment, she seemed none the worse for wear except for a few scuff marks.

  “I thought of just gutting her like a pig and leaving her to rot, but then uncharacteristic pity stayed my hand,” Hector said. “I thought maybe we could put her fate to a vote.”

  “Looks like you killed them all,” the girl said, her voice devoid of emotion. She gripped a tuft of hair in one hand and let out a single laugh. “Guess I really screwed up choosing my marks this time. You all ex-military or what?”

  “So you were sizing us up to be targeted by your gang,” Tinubu said.

  “Keen observation,” she said. “The one-eyed giant here is wasting his pity. If you don't kill me, the gang definitely will, after a fuckup like this.”

  “Kind of seems like poetic justice after you tried to get us all killed,” Cena said.

  The girl glared at her. “You outsiders don't know what it's like here,” sh
e said. “In this neighborhood, you're either part of a gang or you're dead. And the gang calls the shots. You don't think I enjoy living like scum, do you? But it's either that or become food for the rats.”

  “Why not leave?” Vic asked.

  “Leave? And do what? Starve on the road?” the girl demanded. “This ain't the first place I ever lived in. But it's the same everywhere. Nothing changed after the Concord took over. You're either an official citizen, or you're nobody. They won't even let me in the safe wards. Someone like me would be shot on sight if I tried to sneak in. Where the fuck am I supposed to go?”

  Tinubu said, “That's pretty brazen, trying to win our sympathy with a sob story after you set up an ambush for us.”

  “Then why are we even having this conversation? If you're going to kill me, just get it over with.” Tears welled up in the girl's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I never wanted this. Becoming a murderer, having to prey on people just to survive. I was never given any other choice.”

  Several moments passed in silence until Vic said tentatively, “We could bring her with us. Colonel Lane might be able to find a place for her in Aqualung. She wouldn't be the first former criminal to fill SLIC's ranks.”

  Hope flickered within the girl's eyes. “You would do that? After what I just tried to do to you?”

  “If you wish to reject your humanity,” the voice within Janice whispered, “take the monster's hand in yours.”

  Like a bolt of lightning, that burning hate flashed through Janice's consciousness, igniting the latent animosity within her. She could not quite tell whether the words that followed had even originated within her own mind.

  “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “This bitch just tried to get us all killed so she and her friends could pick over our corpses. I say slit her throat and leave her body for the dogs.”

  The others stared at Janice in shock. The realization of what she had just said coursed through her, bringing her hand to her mouth in mortification.

  “I—I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me,” she stammered. “It must be the strain of nearly being killed. Please, forget I said that.”

  “Don't matter to me none,” Hector interjected. “The whole reason I brought her back here is so you could do whatever you want with her.”

  “Everybody deserves a second chance,” Cena said. “Or so I'd like to say. But I don't know that we can trust this gal. I give even odds that she'd slit our throats in our sleep and take our stuff back to put herself in good with her gangster pals.”

  “That is a concern,” Tinubu agreed.

  Vic's brow furrowed in thought as he considered this.

  “I take back what I said about killing her,” Janice said. “But I agree it's too great a risk to take her with us.”

  “The gang will kill me,” the girl objected. “As sure as Saris watches over us, they'll kill me.”

  “Sorry, but we can't trust you,” Tinubu replied. “You've proven yourself pretty resourceful so far. I'm sure you'll be able to find refuge with another gang or something.”

  “Please,” the girl pleaded. “I swear I won't betray you. I'll do anything you want, please just take me out of this hellhole.”

  Without a word, the others gathered up their gear and began filing out of the alley. The girl stretched out her hand and watched them go through wide, tear-stained eyes. As their steps took them farther away, they could heard her muffled sobs receding behind them. Janice felt a weight in her gut and resolutely refused to look back. This was the world she lived in now. She told herself there was no room for pity. Pity would only get you killed.

  Just as they reached the end of the alley, Vic came to a halt. “Dammit,” he whispered. “I can't do this.”

  Cena stopped, hung her head, and sighed. “You know what, I can't either. The Luminescence don't teach us to weigh the odds when we meet someone in need.”

  The two of them turned around and started back down the alley while their companions stared. Hector shrugged and shook his head.

  “For blood's sake,” he snorted. “What a bunch of bleeding hearts.”

  “I thought you said you didn't care what we do with her,” Tinubu said.

  “I just wanted to see how stupid you lot could be,” Hector replied. “Answer: pretty damn stupid.”

  At the sight of Vic and Cena going back down the alley, Janice felt the weight lifting from her stomach. For that brief moment, a tiny ray of light shone within the bleak world she had been thrust into.

  “Guess I'm stupid too then,” she said. “But you already knew that, didn't you.”

  She jogged after her companions and followed them until they stopped in front of the sobbing girl. She was so absorbed in her grief that she didn't notice their presence until they were almost on top of her, at which point she wiped the tears off her face and looked up at them in surprise.

  “What...?”

  “Do you know a fast route to the south side of town?” Vic asked. “One that will steer us away from the most dangerous neighborhoods.”

  “Y... yes.”

  Vic extended his hand. “Show us.”

  Disbelief plastered all over her face, the girl accepted Vic's hand and got to her feet.

  “I'm Vic.” Vic gestured to his companions. “Cena, Janice, and the two back there are Tinubu and Hector One-Eye. Guess which is which.”

  The girl looked suspicious that this might be some sort of trick, but she reluctantly offered, “I'm Young.”

  “All right Young,” Cena said, “consider yourself on probation. You got a long way to go to earn our trust. You can start by guiding us safely out of this pit.”

  “OK.” Young brushed past her new companions and headed for the front. “Follow me.”

  I hope we don't regret this, Janice thought. And yet, even if Young did betray them, perhaps this gesture of mercy would still be worth it. If only to prove that compassion still existed, even in the shadows of this brutal world.

  Eighth Escalation

  The faint glimmer... it glows and grows

  Pierson Cutter descended a long stairway dimly lit by shimmering blue lights, his steps echoing through the stone passage. He was adorned in black robes emblazoned on the back with an emblem depicting three eyes, his cloak fluttering behind him as he strode down the stairs. At the bottom, a pair of masked guards clad in similar robes flanked a door made of stained glass that glowed with an eerie light. Each guard was armed with a halberd, barring the way forward by holding their weapons before the door in an X. They retracted their halberds as Pierson approached. Without acknowledging their presence, he pushed open the door and stepped through.

  Beyond the glass door lay an arched chamber with the aesthetics of a shrine. Columns twisted into helices supported the vaulted ceiling, whence fell azure shafts of light that illuminated the otherwise dark space. In the center of the chamber, suspended from enormous chains, hung the Cage: a coffin-like container, twice the height of a man, adorned with ancient scripts and faceless carvings of long-forgotten gods.

  To either side of the Cage stood a pair of figures cloaked in grandiose black robes. Their cowls were pulled low over their brows, concealing the upper halves of their faces. These were the Regents, ruling council of the Xenolists, and they were an enigma to Pierson. He knew little of them except that the tall woman on the left went by the name Regina, and the lanky man on the right was known only by the moniker Wizard.

  Pierson knelt before his superiors. “You summoned me, my lords?”

  “Rise, Captain,” Regina commanded, her voice brimming with authority.

  Pierson complied, flipping his cloak behind him as he resumed his feet.

  “You have done well,” Regina said. “The operation to acquire the P.S.A.'s genetic database has yielded great fruit. Our analysis has uncovered a candidate with near-perfect compatibility for Project Ascension. Even more intriguing, we have never encountered a candidate with this particular combination of characteristics before. An unknown type.�
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  Pierson frowned. “Unknown?”

  In a voice more youthful than his severe appearance would have suggested, Wizard interjected, “In other words, we have no idea what kinds of powers the candidate might manifest.”

  “Which makes immediate capture all the more critical,” Regina added.

  Wizard came forward and produced a datacube from within his robes. Pierson accepted the cube, plugged it into his pocket computer, and accessed the data within. A portrait of the candidate, along with vital statistics, shimmered in the air before him.

  “Our agents within the Concord have tracked the candidate's recent movements,” Regina continued. “The Unknown was being held at a maximum security prison, Luot Lengs, until the Spacy attack. Several prisoners, our candidate included, are believed to have escaped together.”

  “You'll find the data for the other prisoners on that datacube,” Wizard said.

  Pierson checked out the other profiles and his eyes widened in surprise. Wizard's mouth curled into a cold smile.

  “I see that the escaped prisoners are not unfamiliar to you,” he observed.

  “Yes,” Pierson answered. “Not only that, but I know where they are likely headed. They're rebel agents, which means their highest priority will be rejoining their allies at the nearest SLIC contact point.”

  Wizard raised his arms over his head. “Such serendipity can only be the will of the Xenowave,” he proclaimed.

  “But what if the candidate split away from these prisoners after they escaped?” Regina demanded.

  “Given this background, it's unlikely that the candidate could survive in a warzone without help,” Pierson said. “And these prisoners are not the sort to abandon someone in need.”

  Wizard turned to address Regina. “The providence of the Xenowave would not be so capricious as to lead us astray. It is an omen that the other prisoners are familiar to the captain.”