Into the Fire

by Peter Liney

  “They look mean,” Gordie whispered. “Specially the big one.”

  “Stay down,” I told him, my hand heavy on his shoulder.

  I waited ’til they were some way down the street and had started to disappear into the smoke, then slowly stood up. It was Van and his sidekick, and it might’ve been just coincidence—they could’ve been looking for anyone—but I wouldn’t have minded betting it was me. Ray was probably pissed off at how that job had worked out, the guy ending up dead. Jeez, with everything else that had been going on, it was the last thing I needed.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Gordie. We picked up the boxes and I led him away, hugging the storefronts, ready to duck into a doorway at any moment if the limo returned.

  I saw one other odd thing on our way back to the churchyard. The fire across the street had died right down at last, leaving a few jagged sections of slowly cooling walls, and someone had sprayed graffiti on one of them—not that there’s anything unusual about that, there’s always been graffiti all over the City, but the words kind of gave me a jolt.

  THERE’S NONE SO BLIND AS THOSE WHO WILL NOT SEE

  Why I thought that meant anything, I don’t know. I guess, the way things were, I just couldn’t resist. It was the only graffiti in the street and someone had picked out that particular wall, right opposite us, to spray it.

  “Weird,” I commented, resting my crate of vegetables for a moment.

  Gordie grunted, puzzled by my reaction “Why?” he asked.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange?”

  He looked for a moment, then gave his “highly unimpressed” shrug. “Nope,” he replied, and turned and headed into the churchyard.

  I stood there for a few seconds, then picked up my own crate and followed him. He was probably right; my tortured old imagination was starting to run away with me again.

  Everyone was pretty impressed with the amount of fresh food we’d brought back. Even Jimmy momentarily stopped working to give an appreciative little whistle. He’d been fiddling with that screen for days, trying to use those parts he’d brought back to make it untraceable so we could watch what was going on. One look at his frustrated expression was enough to tell me he still hadn’t cracked it.

  “No luck?” I asked.

  “It’s not a case of ‘luck,’ Big Guy,” he said, somewhat put out by my terminology. “If that was all it was, anyone could do it.”

  “Don’t know why you’re bothering,” Delilah grumbled. “They’ll only tell you what they want you to know.”

  The little guy never commented; partly I guess ’cuz he knew she had a point, but also ’cuz of how down she still was about Arturo—and now Lena, and he knew he had to tread lightly.

  Delilah, as if reacting to his concern, started to hum tunelessly to herself as if to make it clear that no one needed to worry about her.

  Later, after we’d eaten and Gordie and Hanna had argued endlessly about whether or not people were meant to consume fruit and vegetables, I went back up-top. It was getting late, but that graffiti was still on my mind and I wanted to take another look before it got dark.

  THERE’S NONE SO BLIND AS THOSE WHO WILL NOT SEE

  It was just a scrawl, hastily written—as if whoever had done it wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Why on earth did I think there was any connection with Lena? ’cuz of the use of the word “blind,” maybe? But she wasn’t blind anymore, leastways, not as far as I knew. I sighed, checked up and down the street that no one was watching me and where I was going, then crossed back over and entered the churchyard. Clearly I was searching for answers in places where there were none. I mean, what wouldn’t she want to see? Her captors? What they were trying to make her say or do? That didn’t make any sense—and most senseless of all: if it was about Lena, who could’ve written it?

  The following day I lost it altogether. I missed Lena so much—there was a terrible ache where she should’ve been. I’ve told you before, I’d give my life for hers anytime. If someone had told me then and there how to do it, I would’ve been happy to. But it was the not knowing that was killing me, and the longer it went on, the more my mind played tricks on me. Every time I went out I thought I saw her, even chasing after people sometimes, calling her name, frightening them and embarrassing myself. I had all sorts of stupid thoughts going through my head, including that maybe she hadn’t been kidnapped at all—she’d run away.

  I was out “skulking around,” as the others called it, talking to people, asking if they’d seen her, when I spotted someone who looked just like her entering a looted department store. I mean, yeah, it was smoky and this woman was on the far side of the street, but the way she was dressed, the way she moved—I could’ve sworn it was Lena.

  I rushed over, entering through the same smashed window she had, trying to pick her out from the scavengers, but she’d disappeared.

  I scoured the entire floor and still hadn’t found her, so I made my way over to the escalator. I went up level by level, searching all around, but still there was no sign. When I reached the top, my frustration got the better of me and I went and hung over the rail.

  “Lena! Lena!” I cried, my voice sounding all empty and strained, but still there was nothing. I turned and started to make my way back down, this time searching each floor more thoroughly, even checking the restrooms—I mean, in my heart I guess I knew it wasn’t her, but I still had to be sure.

  I was descending to the third floor when I came across this commotion: a couple of Infinity Specials were struggling with the woman I’d been looking for, and you know, with her back to me, it still could’ve been Lena. I gave this cry of outrage, but when the three of them stopped and turned, when I got a better look, I could see how wrong I’d been, that actually, she was older and shorter; in fact, there was barely any likeness to Lena at all.

  She was trying to keep hold of this dusty overcoat she must’ve picked up while the two Specials were attempting to snatch it away from her. They were a pair of big muscle-heads, dressed in laser-reflective gear, black gloves, helmets and dark glasses, and I guess they reckoned fear alone should’ve been enough to subdue her.

  It was a strange kinda coincidence that the person I’d mistaken for Lena was being mistreated by the very organization I suspected of kidnapping her—too much so for a man in my state. Suddenly I wanted to defend that woman as much as anyone in my life, and I leapt down the last few steps of the escalator, shouting at them like a maniac. The woman gave out with this awful animal-like yelping; in fact, I reckon she might’ve been a little crazy herself.

  The few people around immediately scattered, not wanting to get involved in anything that involved violence and Specials, but it was me who was completely out of control.

  “What d’ya want, old fuck?” one of the Infinity men snarled.

  Okay, so I know I’d become touchy about my age, but that’s never been a good conversation opener with me.

  “Leave her alone,” I told them.

  He looked around as if checking to see if anyone was watching. “Look, we got enough nut-jobs to deal with. Just get the fuck out of here, will you?” He turned back to the woman and angrily wrenched the coat out of her hands as if determined to get this over with.

  She wailed all the louder and I shouted again, “Leave her alone!”

  The same guy turned back to me and sighed, like he didn’t want to do this but I’d given him no choice. “Some of you old fucks just don’t want to go on living, do you?”

  He was quick—too quick for a man of my age—but luckily for me, he wasn’t that accurate. He hit me with his clenched fist and though it was only a glancing blow, an awful tingling resonated through me. He was wearing shock gloves.

  But you know, no matter how young and fit they were, or well-equipped, it wasn’t a fair contest ’cuz they didn’t have one ounce of my rage or frustration. I just leapt at them, in such a fury, growling like a bear, throwing punches left and right, immediately knocking one down and then kic
king him for good measure. I turned to the other as he was going for his laser, making a grab for it myself ’til the two of us, wrenching it back and forth, somehow managed to break it. I took a swing at him, but hadn’t noticed the guy on the floor getting back up. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, twitching and shaking, feeling that electricity zipping through me. He hit me again, on the left side this time, just on the bottom rib. I can’t tell you how painful those damn things are, each new blow, each new electric shock, slicing you into a trillion pieces.

  The only drawback with shock gloves is that they have to be recharged. It only takes a moment or two, but for that brief period, whoever’s using them’s disarmed. He pulled away from me, I guess thinking his partner would have me covered with his laser, and I’d just about got to my feet as his gloves gave off that shrill “charged” sound and I caught him on the cheek as he went to turn, knocking him to the floor.

  From then on there was no stopping me. I was like an old familiar beast bursting free of his chains; any hope I had of doing the sensible thing was gone. All the loathing I had for this organization finally had an outlet. I jumped on the guy and jerked his head back, wrenched off one of his gloves and stuffed it into his mouth. Then I put on the other glove so I was insulated and rammed his jaws shut, triggering the electric charge. He screamed and went all limp, and when he started to come around, I did it again, and again, each time his screams getting weaker. I maintained my grip ’til I was certain he was dead, then turned to deal with the other guy. He was up on his feet, but backing away, making for the escalator.

  I’m not sure I would’ve caught him, but as luck would have it, he was in such a state of panic that he cannoned into the woman as she was also making for the escalator, the coat bundled up in her arms. I grabbed him and as the woman took the opportunity to scamper away, I dragged him to a nearby office. I didn’t want anyone else to overhear what I was about to say.

  I’d calmed down a bit by the time I threw him into a chair, maybe ’cuz I finally had a chance to ask someone the question I’d been asking myself every moment since I fell outa that dumpster

  “Where’s Lena?” I said, the words almost tripping over each other.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Lena!” I shouted.

  “Who the hell’s Lena?”

  “You got her prisoner. Thirty-something, long brown hair, hazel eyes.”

  He shook his head and I hit him, hard, on the side of the face, once and then again. “Tell me!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he cried, blood starting to trickle from his lip. “I’m just an ordinary Special—from the barracks behind the main building. We don’t get involved in that sort of stuff.”

  “Where would they keep her?”

  “I don’t know!” he said exaggeratedly, like I must be hard of hearing or something.

  “Jesus,” I growled, and grabbing him by the collar I jerked him up out of his seat, gave him a real blast of the look, face to face, then threw him back down again.

  For a moment I just stood there, slowly becoming aware that my loss of control had meant me making a mistake, playing it wrong—or leastways, taking a gamble that hadn’t paid off.

  Eventually he met my gaze, regaining confidence, maybe taking my preoccupation as a sign that I’d lost my nerve. “I’d start running if I were you, old man,” he said. “Killing an Infinity Special? The way they’ll torture you, you’ll beg them to end your life.”

  I sighed. He was right. The only thing was, he hadn’t thought it through properly either—’course he was right, I shouldn’t’ve killed his partner, but now that I had, I’d be a fool to leave a witness.

  I grabbed him and wrestled my way over to the full-length window. As he began to guess what I had in mind, he started struggling even harder, elbowing me in the face with such force I thought for a moment I was going to black out. But I clung on, determined to maintain my grip as I dragged him ever closer, ’til finally I was able to maneuver him around, release his hold on me and shove him as hard as I could. The glass exploded outward and for one absurd moment he just hung in midair like a cartoon character, then he let out this long, loud wail and disappeared from sight as he plummeted to the street below.

  I took the emergency stairs and slipped out the back of the building, having no wish to be seen by the crowd I was sure was gathering at the front. I headed back to the churchyard as fast as I could.

  As I was crossing the Square, this Dragonfly suddenly dropped down out of the smoke, flying so low I thought they were going to land. It hung there for a few moments, then slowly began to circle, ever wider, ’til eventually it disappeared into the smoke again. I mean, it wasn’t unusual, but it didn’t do a lot for my peace of mind. I was feeling pretty guilty about what I’d done—I didn’t do that sort of thing anymore, and even back in the day, I’d never been one for mindless violence—and yet really, what were we talking about? A couple of Specials, guys who’d repeatedly massacred helpless people—and who knows, maybe two who were on duty the night little Arturo got killed? They might even’ve assisted in some way.

  I turned the corner off the Square and was just about to head down to the churchyard when I noticed something. I stopped, backtracking several paces.

  It was here, too, written on the wall in even bigger letters than opposite the churchyard:

  THERE’S NONE SO BLIND AS THOSE WHO WILL NOT SEE

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The graffiti was written in exactly the same way, and presumably by the same person. It was also quite fresh, maybe even from that morning. Immediately it set me thinking: this was another place I frequently passed, where someone might just leave a message they were hoping I’d read. But no, I knew I had to stop thinking that way. It had nothing to do with me, just someone who wanted to share something with the world. It was sheer coincidence Lena used to be blind and wasn’t anymore. In fact, it wasn’t even coincidence, just me trying to make something out of nothing . . . There’s none so all-seeing as those out to torture themselves.

  To my surprise, when I got back to the crypt I found everyone sitting around watching Jimmy’s mini-screen.

  “Is that okay?” I asked Jimmy.

  “Yeah,” he replied, a little smugly, “if they’re searching for its location, they’re currently sifting street by street though St. Petersburg.”

  I’d do anything but tell him, but his skill with that sort of thing never failed to amaze me. “Anything interesting?” I asked, a little concerned in case there was any mention of the two Specials or the monster who’d taken them out.

  “Ask ‘The World’s Most Wanted,’” Delilah rasped drily.

  “Really?”

  Again Jimmy looked a little pleased with himself, though he did attempt a degree of modesty. “It’s just a title,” he said. “Something snappy for people to remember me by.”

  “All the other channels the same?” I asked.

  Jimmy grunted. “What other channels?”

  I stared at him. There’d been hundreds of different channels when I’d left for the Island, mostly little independents, but a dozen or more big players too.

  “There are other channels,” he told me, “but Infinity or its affiliates appears to own them all. We were right: they’re in total control now. What government there is—well, nothing more than a figurehead really—went bust long ago. Same old problem: too much going out, not enough coming in. The satellites were their last hope, though Infinity even paid for them. Private enterprise—and for sure I didn’t have to dig far to find Infinity—called in their loans and shut them down.”

  “Huh. No one told us that at the time.”

  “They talk endlessly about democracy but have complete control of all media—and we know what that means, don’t we. Oh yeah, and they provide free Internet, too. To everyone.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  He gave this kind of disgusted snort. “Manipulate so-called competition laws to get ri
d of the opposition, then when it’s just you, use it for whatever you like: censorship, spying, propaganda; invent stuff, erase it, take people out, remove their records, say they never even existed. Not cool.” He paused for a moment, then started ranting again, “No one ever stopped to think . . . it’s Lemmings’ Law: if everyone’s doing it, it must be okay. We were seduced into becoming utterly reliant upon the media, and while we all went along blindly trusting in the idea of the greater good, Infinity was hell-bent on its own evil agenda. In truth, we lost control almost immediately.”

  He gestured at the screen. “Look what they’re saying about me,” he protested. “‘The biggest threat to our society we’ve ever known!’ Me!. . . I can barely put my socks on in the morning.”

  “They must be pretty open about it if you found all this out,” I said, looking for some consoling factor.

  Jimmy stared at me as if I was even stupider than he’d thought. “What d’ya think took me so long? I had to hack in all over the place.”

  “Oh,” I said. I should’ve guessed that, and probably would have, if my mind hadn’t suddenly shot off in its most-traveled direction. “What about Lena? D’you find anything out about her?”

  He shook his head. I guess he’d known that would be my first question. “I did try, but . . . no, sorry.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “I’ll keep looking,” he told me. “There are holding cells in the Infinity building, I can tell you that.”

  That didn’t really mean much—maybe she wasn’t even being held in a cell. “What about a hospital?”

  “I think they’ve got pretty much everything in there.”

  I went quiet for a moment, absently looking at the screen. There was an ad on there for some new chocolate bar—I mean, what could’ve been more normal? But in the context of our lives, it felt like an obscenity.

  “I need you to see the place,” I told him. “It’s too hi-tech for me.”