Into the Fire

by Peter Liney

  When I got back and told the others the whole story—about the money, where Lena was—they were a little put out: Jimmy and Delilah at being kept in the dark, at not being able to at least wish her good luck, and the kids, I think, at not getting to see all that dough. Nevertheless, they were quick to understand how worried I was; repeatedly reassuring me she’d be fine, that I’d done the right thing.

  And maybe it was the fact that I was so preoccupied, that I couldn’t settle to anything, that prompted Jimmy to suggest we went out after dinner.

  I was a little surprised. He hadn’t left the churchyard since Infinity put a price on his head. “What for?” I asked.

  “I gotta do something, Big Guy,” he complained. “It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Jimmy!” Delilah protested.

  “It’s okay. They’re looking for an old man, not a young cool one,” he told her, indulging in his new habit of stroking his shiny bald head from forehead to nape.

  “I’m not living with junk again,” she warned, obviously having a fair idea what he had in mind.

  “Not junk—new stuff.”

  “Jeez!” I muttered, no more enthusiastic about the idea than Delilah. “What for?”

  “I want to block their ability to locate that screen so we can use it,” he said.

  I gotta admit, put that way, it was pretty hard to deny him. Delilah groaned, but I could tell she was also conceding it made sense.

  “I’ll be fine,” he told her.

  “If you’re going to a computer store, bring me back a game,” Arturo begged.

  I started to shake my head, but he threw himself at me, pleading, looking up with those big brown eyes—I tell ya, all the old tricks.

  “Clancy!” Delilah joined in.

  I half-wrestled with the little guy; after all, I was almost as fond of him as Delilah. As I did so, his sleeve rucked up and I caught a glimpse of something on his arm. “What’s that?” I asked.

  He gave this fanfare, like I’d just discovered his buried treasure. “Taa-da!” he cried, pulling his sleeve right up and revealing a large picture of Mickey Mouse on his arm.

  Gordie sneered, like it was too pathetic for words, then promptly pulled up his own sleeve to reveal an Asian-style dragon on his rather more developed bicep.

  “Are they tattoos?” I asked.

  “Just transfers,” Hanna told me, in her “boys will be boys” voice. “They got them when we were out with Lena.”

  “Whose is best?” Gordie asked.

  “I dunno,” I replied, not in the mood for diplomacy.

  “Arturo’s,” Hanna ventured.

  “Mickey Mouse!” sneered Gordie.

  “I like it,” she told him.

  “You would.”

  “I’ve always liked Mickey Mouse,” Delilah chipped in.

  “Big Guy?” Jimmy interrupted, still waiting to go out.

  “Yeah, yeah, okay,” I replied. “But no kids.”

  For a moment Gordie didn’t get it; he just sat there nodding as if he was in complete agreement, glaring at Arturo and Hanna in case they got any ideas.

  “That includes you,” I told him.

  “What?” he protested.

  “I’m not taking any of you out at night.”

  “I can take care of myself!” he said, pulling his sleeve back up, flexing his muscle, showing off his dragon.

  “Not this time,” I said, and he got really angry with me, as if I was disrespecting him somehow, giving me that sharp stony look that reminded me of the crazed little animal he used to be out on the Island. He threw down his food and went storming off up the steps.

  “Keep an eye on him,” I said to Delilah.

  “I’ll try,” she said, attempting to get her arms around little Arturo, as if he would always be her first responsibility, but he wriggled free and ran after Gordie.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Jimmy, anxious to get away before Dragon Boy and the Mickey Mouse Kid came back and started giving me the evil eye.

  There’s this street, Melville Highway, they nicknamed Hi-Tec Alley, it’s anything to do with technology, computers, screens, scans. It’s all there, as well as spare parts stacked up to the ceiling, some so old you couldn’t believe anyone would still have a use for them. Fortunately, it wasn’t that far—less than thirty minutes even at Jimmy’s pegging old pace—so I was kind of relieved to hear that was where he wanted to go.

  The story of the City at night was pretty well still on the same nightmare page: a fathomless sea of smoke, fire after fire, gangs of looters and muggers frequently fighting with each other, having to watch your back all the time. Though there was this sense that in some areas everything that could be taken had, and that the new strategy was to try to frighten functioning streets into closing down, abandoning everything to the mob.

  Mind you, it depended on what you were looking for. If you wanted a good read for example, you were in luck, ’cuz wherever looters got their ideas, it wasn’t from the printed or electronic page—I hadn’t seen one bookstore broken into—well, not until we made our way to Hi-Tec Alley.

  Out on the Island, I’d really got into reading, not just for the story, but also for the appreciation of the words, the way the writer used them. Yeah, I know that don’t sound like a big guy, but I’d never really had the chance before. Tell the truth, I was really missing it, and when I saw that smashed window, all those books just lying there and no one seeming to care, I couldn’t help myself. It’d been a display of classics and I grabbed some titles I recognized but had never read: For Whom the Bell Tolls, A Tale of Two Cities, The Grapes of Wrath and Dr. Zhivago.

  Jimmy kind of frowned at me as I stuffed them in my backpack, like I was wasting his precious time, but I just waved him on. “Let’s go.”

  There wasn’t a lot left of Hi-Tec Alley. I wouldn’t’ve minded betting it was one of the first places visited when the satellites came down. Jimmy and me went from store to store, but the theft and destruction were pretty well total. Arturo could forget all about his computer game.

  If it’d been me, I would’ve given up then and there, but Jimmy wasn’t there for laptops, game glasses, screens or whatever, he just wanted some parts, and down the side alleys, some of the little repair shops were still relatively intact.

  I shouldered open one door for him and he swept in like an overeager ant, going from shelf to shelf, actually trying to climb up to some of the higher ones, until I pointed out that there was a ladder. Every now and then he’d let out a little whistle or cry of appreciation.

  “I ain’t carrying nothing,” I warned him.

  “You won’t have to. It’s micro.”

  In the end, he filled a bag and came up to me, proudly holding it open for my approval.

  “Don’t mean a great deal to me,” I told him.

  He grunted like I was letting him down as usual, and turned for the door. “It should do,” he told me.

  As soon as we set off back to the church, our task completed, I found myself worrying about Lena again, about leaving her alone like that. I hated having to trust Dr. Simon. It was completely against my nature. If the circumstances had been different, I wouldn’t have even considered it, but as it was, I had no other choice.

  I was that concerned, I gave out with one of those long sighs we all expel when we want a friend to ask, “What’s up?” but Jimmy was too preoccupied to notice.

  We were on the corner of Melville and a couple of kids had just passed by, looking like they had something on their minds, when he grabbed my arm, looking back at where they were going.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, but he never answered.

  They turned off down this narrow alley and he immediately set off after them.

  “Jimmy!” I shouted but he ignored me. More than a little irritated, I tagged along behind him tagging along behind them: down the alley, around a corner, then up a fire escape and through a door. The little guy pegged it up there after them, hesitated for a moment and then, m
aking sure I was right behind him, he entered.

  Actually, in a way, it was kinda amazing: he’s in his seventies and those two kids were in their teens, but somehow he’d recognized kindred spirits. They were a couple of gamers who’d unknowingly just led us to what looked like a makeshift games parlor, stocked with what I guessed were looted machines.

  I don’t know how many kids were playing, maybe twenty or so. I thought they’d take one look at us and kick up a fuss, that there might be trouble, but they were too engrossed with what they were doing to even notice.

  Jimmy stood there gazing around like he was in the Games Room of the Gods, practically licking his lips at all that technology and the different types of games, while I was more concerned with what the deal was here.

  “Let’s go,” I told him, feeling uneasy.

  “Are you kidding?” he cried.

  This sleazy-looking guy, overweight and unshaven, approached us. Presumably he was running the show. He asked Jimmy if he wanted some change.

  “You didn’t keep any of that money?” the little guy asked, turning to me.

  I gave him a short hard burst of The Look, just to let him know how unimpressed I was. “Nope.”

  “Just one game!” he cooed, somehow knowing I was lying. “For old times’ sake.”

  He got such an expression about him, such a longing, a cry of nostalgia, that—call me soft, call me stupid, call me whatever you will—I took out a ten and handed it over.

  “One game!” I insisted.

  “Hey, Big Guy, you’re the coolest, man,” he said, immediately changing the bill into coins.

  “For chrissake, Jimmy, be careful,” I muttered, as soon as we were alone. “What if someone recognizes you?”

  He didn’t even reply, just stroked his bald head as if that answered everything.

  I followed behind him as he went from game to game, looking over kids’ shoulders, peering into their booths, his eyes twinkling like they might catch fire, determined to make his one game count. One girl didn’t like it, you could see that, this old guy closely studying what she was doing. Eventually she got all twitchy, shooting sideways glances and flicking her hair ’til in the end she got wiped out and promptly stormed away. Jimmy was in her seat before it had even lost the impression of her butt.

  “Know what you’re doing?” I asked, and the kid on the other side of him gave this kind of cruel snigger.

  “Yeah. It’s just a variation of an old favorite,” he said with supreme confidence, immediately getting himself wiped out. The kid started giggling, nudging his neighbor and pointing at Jimmy.

  Jimmy made this face like he’d missed the obvious, then started to play again. The two kids waited to see how long he’d last this time, their laughter threatening to erupt at any moment.

  The only thing was, that was it. That was the only occasion he got himself wiped out. I mean, it’s not something that’s ever interested me, not in the least, but I could see I was in the presence of a grand master. He whirled his hands through the air like he was conducting an orchestra, his movements rapid and smooth. In no time he moved onto the second level, then the third, with the machine congratulating him all the way. The two kids just gaped, their mouths getting ever wider, and others started stopping their own games to stare over at us. I guess I’d seen a little of it out on the Island, but I had no idea just how much in tune he was with that stuff.

  I kept an eye out for any hint that someone might’ve recognized him—not that I thought they would’ve done anything if they had. I mean, you could see it in their faces: disbelief, shock, but more than anything, absolute and overwhelming respect. I couldn’t imagine any of them informing on him.

  He finished up, got what I suspected was the maximum possible score—the machine was practically throwing itself at his feet—but he had one more trick up his sleeve. There was this kid a few stations down, on a bit of a run himself and refusing to let this old man’s antics distract him. Jimmy saw him, got a bit of a twinkle in his eye and dug something out of the bag of stuff he’d taken from the repair shop. Don’t ask me what it was, but he fiddled around with it for a few moments, lodged it into the machine, and then started shifting icons left, right and center. A few moments later, the kid still playing let out a cry of protest, plainly having been wiped out.

  “What?” he wailed. “I never even seen one of them before!”

  I don’t know how he did it, but obviously Jimmy had taken control of the kid’s game. The others burst into laughter, cooing with astonishment and admiration, and with a few more quick maneuvers, he not only managed to invade everyone else’s game, but to gain access to every computer in the place, linking them together and using their joint capacity to create a super version of what he’d been playing before, one that practically covered the entire wall. I tell you, little old bald guy with a limp he may be, but in a matter of seconds he’d transformed himself into a superhero to every kid in that place.

  He paused for a moment, making great play of flexing his fingers as if limbering up, then gave them all a proud little smile, as if they hadn’t seen nothing yet.

  “One game,” I reminded him.

  “Big Guy!” he protested.

  “One game!” I repeated.

  He sighed and reluctantly followed me to the door, I swear those kids were every bit as disappointed as he was.

  “See you, guys!” he called back. “Another time, huh?”

  We descended the steps of the fire escape, Jimmy pretty pleased with himself, repeatedly stroking his newly acquired shiny bald head, and actually, I could see why. We all need to remind ourselves who we are occasionally, what we’re capable of and how it might affect others. He had this quiet little smile about him the whole way back—at least until we came to that last clutch of screens just before the Square.

  Suddenly he stopped, staring up at the closest one, his face falling like a landslide. “Oh shit!”

  I looked up at the screen. It was the usual thing: somehow it identified you, knew all about you, and immediately personalized the ads for your attention. Though not for us, thank God—or leastways, not ’til then.

  Tired of your friends’ jokes, Jimy? Of being “Mr. Slaphead”? or “Jelly Bean”? Make an appointment with one of our hair surgeons and be a real man again.

  Lion’s Mane Studio—25% off all this month

  It seemed so everyday, so comic, and yet we both knew what it meant.

  “They know who I am!” he wailed. “They read me!”

  If he was on the commercial database, then it could only be a matter of time before he was on the security one, too. And you didn’t have to tell either of us what that meant. Immediately we both started to run, the next screen also reading him, trying to sell him software.

  Hey, Jimy! How fast is fast? Organo 9

  —anything else is the slow lane

  “How the hell did they do it?” he cried, trying his best to run quicker, to get back to the crypt and underground.

  At that moment, an Infinity Dragonfly, presumably alerted to Jimmy’s presence, took off from the roof of a nearby office building—I guessed they must keep them up there in various locations, ready to swoop down whenever they were needed. Jimmy immediately let out this long wail of alarm.

  “Move it!” I shouted, though I had a fair idea he was already going as fast as he could.

  It was over us in a matter of seconds, lights blazing, engine burbling, so close I could actually see scratches in the paintwork on the bottom.

  I had no idea what they had in mind, whether they intended to capture us or not. For sure, if they did, he’d be quite a prize; they could parade him onscreen; people like someone to blame: “This is him, the guy who wrecked all our lives.” Maybe it would calm things down? But it soon became apparent that that wasn’t their strategy, that they wanted a more immediate end to the situation.

  They opened up with just about everything they had as we ducked down an alleyway. Laser cannons and automatic weapo
ns made the walls and sidewalk around us erupt, deluging us in shards of brick and concrete.

  I kept trying doors, back entrances to places, finding them all locked; having to jump back at one point as the brickwork next to me was melted by a laser, sending flames up the wall and setting fire to the whole building.

  The Dragonfly was within a whisker of the roof of the building opposite, hovering at just the right angle to be able to squeeze out the occasional shot. A laser almost clipped Jimmy’s heels as he ran, but somehow we made it to the other end of the alleyway and out onto the relative safety of a main street, where there were enough people around for us to merge briefly, if not actually disappear. I looked both ways, scanning for taller buildings, a city canyon, somewhere where a Dragonfly couldn’t operate, then beckoned to Jimmy to follow.

  “Big Guy!” he complained, almost bent double with exertion.

  I practically had to carry him. My arm was locked around his shoulders, stopping him from tumbling over as the Dragonfly continued to shadow us, its spotlights—and no doubt lasers—locked onto their target. Neither of us could go much further, not at our age. We came to some looted stores with their windows smashed and slipped inside to rest, but there was no sanctuary: the Dragonfly just waited outside, hovering there, no doubt going through the building with heat-seeking scanners to pinpoint exactly where we were.

  We found the back exit into this service alleyway but hadn’t gone more than thirty yards before they were over us again, opening fire almost before they’d picked us out with their spotlights. More concrete and brick exploded around us, more buildings burst into flame, and in the distance I could hear sirens—Infinity ground vehicles maybe, coming to join the chase. I turned a corner and led us down yet another alleyway and it looked like the lasers were trapping us in a cat’s cradle of deadly beams of light.

  Jimmy fell over, almost taking me with him, exhaustedly protesting as I yanked him back to his feet and dragged him on. I had no idea what the hell we were going to do.