Surrogacy

by Rob Horner

  An hour later, as Brian and I sat talking in our room, I handed the one Purge Grenade they let me keep to the cop.

  “Why do you want me to have one?” he asked.

  “Just in case,” I said and watched as he made it disappear, sending it off to wherever things went when he pushed them away.

  Chapter 25

  On the road again

  The dream began innocuously enough, just an awareness of my own body, looking out my own eyes at a darkened street. The blackness was oppressive but not complete; a half-moon glimmered overhead and streetlights spaced regularly but far apart provided just enough illumination to dispel any sense of fear or threat. In fact, the night was pleasant, with a cool and gentle breeze. The street was clear before me, not another person or car in sight. Long, low buildings, like ranch-style homes built end to end, lined both sides, every porch and window dark.

  Slowly, unnoticeable at first, the light began to dim. The spacing between streetlights increased as a thick sheaf of clouds spread across the sky, coating the surface of the moon like a roller brush dipped in inky paint. The air around me thickened as it darkened, until I was pushing through a tangible miasma as viscous as molasses and not nearly as sweet.

  Then all light vanished except one.

  In the distance glowed a single bulb, only it wasn’t white and clean like the others. Rather it was distorted by distance, or by the murkiness of the air, so that it took on a reddish hue that became more pronounced the closer I came.

  There was an awareness of openness around me, like I’d stepped from a street and into a large square. My eyes strained to dilate fully, struggling to make sense of vague shapes and impressions in the darkness surrounding me. As before, they were low structures, rectangular and narrow, much smaller than the presumed ranch homes which tracked along the street behind me. It was possible I’d stepped into a construction zone, and the shapes I sensed were construction trailers and portable offices.

  It was a nice wish.

  They were trailers, of course, though used for living during prolonged periods on the road, not meant for business activities. Curtains covered the small windows, some of them frilly and decorative, others strictly functional, and the darkness receded enough to see dim bulbs struggling to life over the doors to some of them. There were no concrete blocks or missing hitches; this wasn’t a trailer park but a campground, a temporary stop from one location to the next.

  In the manner of dreams, with this realization came a new light, a red light, pouring off a boxy trailer sitting straight ahead of me in what was the most prominent position in the square. The light wasn’t mounted. It didn’t come from a porch lamp or curtained window. The trailer oozed the radiance, like someone had strung neon tubing around and around the structure, covering every inch.

  Hesitantly, I stepped closer, knowing with every fiber that I should turn away but trapped in the dream and unable to make my body obey my mind.

  Another step, and the heavy air lifted for a moment, granting a brief respite from the claustrophobic near-panic building inside me. The red light brightened, illuminating the remaining space.

  My friends’ bodies littered the ground. Iz and James, Fish and Chris, Gina and Danielle, all of them lay in twisted shadow, limbs contorted unnaturally, screams forever frozen on their faces.

  I tried to rush forward, wanting to get to them, but my body wouldn’t move.

  None of this was set in stone. It could be avoided if we turned around and never came near this place. If I could convince them, they’d be spared.

  My body turned, not as though to give in, but more to make sure the point was driven home.

  There were two more forms lying at the fringes of the ring of light cast by the trailer.

  Fear surged in my heart, and when I ordered my body to move, it listened.

  Tanya and Crystal looked just as I remembered. Both beautiful. Both trusting in me to save them.

  Both dead.

  The world shook as I fought my way out of sleep.

  “Bad dream?” Iz asked from beside me.

  The sun reflecting off the turbulent waters of the Chesapeake Bay dazzled as I opened my eyes. I’d dozed off just after leaving Mandatum. Days spent making Purge Grenades followed by more days of working out and training with the soldiers and other Chosen had left me exhausted. Nights spent worrying about Tanya, turning the images from my dreams inside out looking for clues, or waking up sweat-soaked after finally falling asleep and having to relive the dreams, had taken a toll. It was Wednesday now, the first of May. I’d had my powers for seventeen days and Tanya had been a demon for thirteen.

  That would end tonight.

  We were on our way to the Westchester County Fair, slated to open tomorrow at noon. They weren’t going to be able to open on time. We were going to make sure of it.

  Iz’s plan was simple.

  We’d attack the carnival at dusk. The harness racing would be over by then. The convention building slash flea market for junk vendors wouldn’t be open yet, not until the carnival customers started showing up the next day. But all the carnival units would be there, giving us our best chance at finding the resonator and destroying it.

  Tanya and Crystal would be there too. I knew it.

  It wasn’t a long drive, only about seven hours. I’m not sure how I earned the right to ride shotgun in one of the vans, but I wasn’t about to turn it down when offered.

  “You were moaning a bit, Johnny. We haven’t really talked about your dreams for a while. Have you seen anything else that might be useful?”

  Other than repeated images of myself inside the trailer with the box, what had I seen? A vague image of all my friends, magically dropping dead between where I stood and the trailer housing the evil stone? Even a dumb kid like me knew that was a regular nightmare born of fear and uncertainty. Relating it to Iz would not only bring my nerves out into the sunshine for everyone to see but might also make him reluctant to lead us into the fight. And we had to enter the carnival.

  I’d made a promise.

  Thinking of Tanya made me remember the other dream, where I found both girls in a place with a horse track and a long vendor building.

  I started talking about that dream, describing the things I’d seen two days before he told us where we’d be heading. I didn’t look at him as I spoke, instead watching the ships moving like ants far below the Bay-Bridge, wishing I could be a passenger on one, free to sail away and not have to face what was coming.

  “Hmph. Sounds like we’re heading to the right place,” he said. “If you’d told us sooner, we wouldn’t have had to spend the week worrying the resonator was slipping through our hands.”

  “Sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t know you guys were worrying, just that we were heading to the right place.”

  “Any hints on how this shakes out?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really. But I think we need to be worried about a lot of Dra’Gal.”

  “Why’s that?”

  So, I told him about my other weird dream, where a new outburst of red lights flew out of the resonator, streaking off into the night.

  “You’re thinking that because of the fight in the mall, they suddenly figured out they could infect a lot more…um…things?”

  I nodded. “It makes sense, right? The whole theory about a resonator only being able to maintain links between so many Dra’Gal? They put so many things in the mall that they didn’t have any left over at the police stations. Plus, however many they’ve been maintaining with the carnival prizes.”

  “But now they got a fresh glut of links available,” he said.

  “I think so.”

  “Assuming that’s true,” he said. “It doesn’t mean they’ll need to infect more items at the carnival.”

  “No, they could be planting their nastiness all the way up into New York,” I said.

  “Isn’t that a cheery thought?” he asked morosely, then fell silent.

  There were four va
ns in our little convoy with nine occupants each. As lost in my own thoughts as I was when I jumped in the passenger seat, I had no idea who else was in the van with me or who rode in the other three. We were staggered by traffic and necessity. According to Iz, each van after ours had waited five minutes to depart. A converted state trooper seeing four black vans staggered out over fifteen minutes was one thing. Seeing four big black vehicles tailgating each other was quite different, even in normal times. There was no fifth vehicle for equipment, which Iz explained was because of the length of the drive and the need for separation. The seven in the back shared space with their weapons and some basic camping gear, enough to set up a few tents, a grill, and a hotplate if they needed to hide out for a day or two.

  We followed state route 13 out of Hampton Roads, across the Chesapeake Bay-Bridge Tunnel, which saved us almost a hundred miles and untold hours of gridlock by bypassing Richmond and Washington DC. Continuing along the coastline, we rolled into Maryland for a short stint before entering Delaware at the southern tip. We’d enter Pennsylvania for a bit, skirting along the southern edge of Philadelphia, before hitting the New Jersey Turnpike and taking it all the way to the lower level of the George Washington Bridge as we entered New York.

  If Fish was in the back of one of the vans, he’d be able to listen to any radio station on the planet, I was sure. For those of us without such expansive access, like me and Iz in the front, we had to content ourselves with the local radio stations.

  It started as we entered Delaware, bits and pieces of news stories that we were always too late to catch the beginnings of as Iz chased the stations across the dial, there and gone to be replaced by the current pop and country, R&B and rap hits.

  Murders.

  Attacks by unknown assailants.

  Missing persons reports.

  Slow police responses.

  One story told of people presenting to a hospital for treatment and coming out acting differently, according to their family members. These were always “alleged,” because by the time someone followed up with the person who reported the incident, that person was either unreachable or acted like nothing had happened.

  “If they’re using hospitals—” Iz began.

  He flipped to the AM dial, where NPR radio was broadcasting a series on the failed policies of the Reagan administration and how the current president was on the verge of committing political suicide by continuing to fund the most radical of them all, the ironically-named Star Wars initiative.

  A familiar voice with a haughty New England accent said, “It’s a sheer waste of money and they know it!”

  “So were your hookers,” Iz muttered.

  “We already have satellites to tell us if another nation launches a missile at us. What’re they gonna do? It’s like hanging up curtains after the house is on fire.”

  “Or like putting a seatbelt on your date after you drive off the bridge,” Iz said sarcastically before giving the dial a vicious twist. “Sorry,” he said to me. “I try not to get too involved in politics, but Ted Kennedy burns my ass.”

  “Did he really drive off a bridge?” I asked.

  “Yeah, happened in 1969. He swam away, left his female passenger trapped inside, and didn’t report it until the next morning.”

  “Was she a hooker?”

  “No, I…where’d you get that idea?” Iz asked, startled.

  “You mentioned hookers,” I said.

  “Forget that part,” he replied. “The point is, he killed someone then left the scene of the accident. He only got a two-month suspended sentence.”

  That didn’t seem right, and I said so.

  “Well, it all comes down to who you are, sometimes, and who you know.”

  He fell silent after that, and the miles continued to pass.

  Crossing into Pennsylvania felt like leaving America and entering some third-world, war-torn country, at least as far as the radio was concerned. Gone were the stories of singular acts of violence. Now the news was all about an apparent gang war engulfing the city. Listening to the reports, it was hard to tell who the good guys were, if there were any.

  Several different motorcycle gangs were running rampant through the City of Brotherly Love, attacking police and civilians at random. The reports centered around the Warlocks, with numerous eyewitness relaying sightings of riders sporting the gang’s colors at the forefront of the attacks. There were also stories involving the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club riding alongside a few people wearing the colors of a Montreal-based group called the Rockers MC. The breathless reporting left no doubt that the radio personalities were fearful of the Angels, while also allowing that they might not be as bad as their reputation suggested.

  When a group of twelve Warlocks threw Molotov cocktails at a retirement home, it was a quartet of Hells Angels who helped put the fires out, though without any visible source of water.

  “The flames just blew themselves out,” an oldster said, “like they were riding so fast they just pulled the flames away.”

  “You think they could be like us?” I asked. “You know, fighting the Dra’Gal?”

  “Could be and probably are, but for different reasons,” Iz said. “If they’re fighting, it’s to protect their own. But it should serve as a good lesson.”

  “How so?”

  “Remember how surprised you were that a well-known politician like Ted Kennedy could be involved in something like killing a woman, even if it was only accidental?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, now you know, just because you hear bad things about a motorcycle gang doesn’t make them true.” He turned to look at me, his eyes like chips of ice. “It means you should only ever judge someone for who they are and how they act, not what job they have, what circles they run in, or what a teacher tells you about them. Some people will omit pertinent facts to get you to like someone or to vote a certain way, while at the same time gleefully repeat every hint of slander without even a shred of proof to make sure you don’t like someone else.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said softly, thinking the lesson was over.

  “And, they’ll—”

  My hands clapped to my ears as a sudden voice invaded my thoughts. The van swerved, Iz struggling to maintain control as the same thing happened to him. Thankfully the road was clear. The van drifted over the yellow line on my side of the road, coming dangerously close to rolling into the breakdown lane before Iz got it back under control.

  “This is Dave. Do not try to respond. Jean, myself, April, and Tina have locked ourselves in the second armory. We’re about to try the bolt hole, but don’t know if the soldier at the other end can be trusted. Mandatum has fallen. I repeat, Mandatum has fallen.”

  “Who?” Iz grunted through clenched teeth.

  “The Quins. It’s the Quins. They came in force a few minutes ago. I caught a warning from Jeremy right before they changed him to a Dra’Gal. Tee’a has destroyed the tracking and communication network in Operations, but if they get to her, they’ll be able to access most of her memory. Right now, everyone believes what you said, that you’ll come back if we’re attacked. Don’t do that, no matter what. You must stay on mission. Don’t do what they expect.”

  “Ahhh!” Iz screamed. A thin trickle of blood oozed out of his nose. I don’t think he noticed it. I tapped my upper lip with a trembling finger then peered at it, but no blood.

  “We’re going out now. If we make it, I’ll get back in contact, see when you can come back for us.”

  The voice faded and the pain in my head receded.

  “Sonuva—” Iz swore softly. He gave his head a back and forth like you’d see in a movie where a guy is getting his butt kicked, but a quick shake clears his thoughts and lets him come back to win the fight. Reaching up to his ear, Iz gave the Port-Comm a light tap, waking it up. Not wanting to miss anything, I repeated the motion.

  “Fish, open a channel to everyone in the vans and close the loop. No outside interference or eavesdropping.”


  “It’s done,” Fish said into my ear. Immediately after came a chorus of voices as three dozen people reacted to what we all had heard.

  “I need a tactical take,” Iz said. “Brian, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s amazing that he was able to talk to all of us at once.”

  “He was being boosted,” Fish said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “And he wasn’t sure who all was receiving him,” Brian said.

  “Why do you say that?” Iz asked.

  “Two reasons. He never said what our mission is, just to stay on it. And, he said you had promised to come back if there was trouble, which I’m pretty sure was never discussed. Both of those suggest he was still human and letting us know that they’ll be expecting us if we return.”

  “But won’t they be expecting us in New York?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “No, Jillian, they won’t,” Fish said. I didn’t know who Jillian was, having never been introduced to her. “Tee’a, my Quin replacement—”

  “Who I verified,” Angie said.

  “—yes, quite. She didn’t know where we were going, just in case. She was ordered only to point the monitoring equipment at Washington DC.”

  “Can’t they track our vans, sir?” Little Jack asked.

  “In a way,” Fish replied. “But they’d need to find them with a satellite first. And with everything pointed at the wrong place, the equipment destroyed, and Tee’a ignorant of our true destination, we’re about as off-the-grid as we’re going to get.”

  “But Dave knows,” I said softly.

  Strangely, Iz took one of his hands off the steering wheel and laid it on my shoulder. For a long moment, no one said anything.

  “Did anyone hear me?” I asked, unsure why the older man had a hand on me. “Dave knows where we’re going. And if they get him, then they’ll know too.”

  “They won’t get him,” Iz said softly. “He’s already gone.”

  Still, no one else had said anything.