Shift
Page 8
"Wait!" I said, running after her. My lungs still burned from the near drowning experience as I breathed heavily and had to stop and lean over for a coughing fit. When I looked back up, they mom and two boys were out of site. I looked around me. I was in a large bubble that seemed to encompass a large city block. Around me were plants, trees, insects, and probably animals. Flowers lined a dirt pathway. I figured the family must've taken a shortcut through the trees to go back to their main hall. It seemed as though the pathway weaved its way within the aboratorium. I decided I might as well follow the path. I looked at the ground as I walked, noticing large footprints in the dustier parts of the path. I assumed these belonged the Pounder.
You aren't the first person to be tossed in that pond and you probably won't be the last rang through my head. Was this a popular dumping ground for bodies? Hell, was it an official dumping ground? I stopped and looked back towards the pond. I wonder...
I went back to the pond, sauntering to appear nonchalant, and looked at its glass surface. I was greeted with my own reflection, no ripples to obscure the picture.
Was I going crazy? Am I really thinking that a nature preserve had been created solely with the purpose of dumping bodies? This is simply a nice place to come for a stroll, despite having an oddly poignant name. Melancholy. And look over there, a young couple walking hand in hand down the path, oblivious to all except the unspoken bond of love flowing between them.
There was also an older man, sitting at a park bench, ripping off minute pieces of old, crusty bread for the ducks. His cane leaning up against the arm of the bench, and his felt cap fit snugly to his mostly bald head.
Trees, wilderness, and flowers surrounded me. I got a sense of pure and utter peace in this place. Nothing wrong could happen here. This was a refuge against the bustle of society, of the degradation of the outside world. Here was a small green slice of nature among the dirty spray of the urban sprawl.
But something still tickled at the back of my brain. That woman, that phrase. Why would she have said that? It had come almost nonchalantly, as though she pulled bodies from that pool quite often.
I chuckled and thought that those bodies typically didn't pick themselves up and walk away. Dark thoughts, I suppose. Though, I'd always had a somewhat dark and fatalistic view. I guess I was well suited for good ole garden of Melancholy.
Walking down the gravel path, I continued musing and enjoying the preserve, feeling the tension melt away. The couple had disappeared around a bend, and the old man had since picked up his cane and hobbled away. Now, it was just nature and I, communing together in peace.
The woman appeared again. She had herded her children and had come back to finish working, it seemed. She raised a hand in silent greeting and I returned the gesture. There was an awkwardness to our greeting, and why not? She had seen me come close to death. I felt a bit awkward myself. But that even that felt like it was fading. I attempted a smile at her, and she returned it.
Man, but this place did make me feel ever so fine. Ever so...fine. I hadn't felt this good in days. I'd been pummeled and beaten, both physically and mentally, and it felt just so damned good to be in this place.
"Nothing like nearly dying to re-center your outlook on life, huh?" I said with a lopsided smile.
"I...suppose," she said, dropping her eyes. "Are you enjoying the preserve?"
"Oh yes, to be honest, I'm actually feeling pretty good. Your park here is very nice," I said.
"That's good to hear, very good indeed!" she said with enthusiasm, preening under the compliment to her life's work.
"I'm trying to just calm down, collect my thoughts. Then I think I'll be on my way." I said.
"Most'll do that, although I'll bet you a fiver that you have no idea why you're feelin’ so good." she said slyly, her relaxed dialect starting to show.
"Oh, and why's that?"
"Well, you see. These plants that I take care of. They have certain medicinal properties. People come here thinking they feel good, yet really all it is a natural high from the spores that float around here."
Her tone had gone from pleasant to clinical.
"What kind of sp.."
She cut me off with a "Shh, its ok. There is nothing wrong with this here. It is really quite natural, why, corporations come to us to buy our plants. They think it helps with the morale...and these days..." she shrugged comically. Yes, nobody was happy at work, but were they ever?
"So, is this going to affect me in some weird way then? Am I going go to sleep tonight and then not wake up?" I asked.
"No..no. God, you're a paranoid one aren't you? No, these plants just calm you down."
Enough with the pretense. Whatever good feeling those spores had given me, had vanished about halfway into this conversation.
"Why did you say that I wasn't the first person dumped here? Who are you really?" I asked, somewhat forcefully.
"I am just the caretaker of this place. As for why people get dumped here, I have no clue. I'll tell you this though, the paperwork in dealing with a dead person is atrocious. Ruins my whole day. Why can't people just be happy?"
"Ok then, what-what happens to the bodies after you file your report?"
"Oof, you're just full of questions, aren't you? Can't you just enjoy this place? If you like, we can just walk around a bit. You'll feel happy again."
Now she was just dodging me. Though, really, I had a hard time disbelieving her. This woman couldn't have been more than five and a half feet tall, with the air of a woman who has given her life over to caring for her pets, which in this case were hallucinogenic plants. For some reason, I didn't see her as being married, yet the fact that she had children slightly confused me.
"No thanks. I need to be going I think."
"Ok then. I hope you have a good day then," she said wistfully. Her gaze wandered back over her little commune and I could see her trying to calculate which plants needed watering.
I followed a small, gravel trail until she was out of sight. The brush exponentially grew in thickness the farther I went. I had thought this might be an exit, but it just got thicker and thicker. The undergrowth gave way to brambles, and they tore at my clothes with abandon. I began to consider turning back when I stumbled into a small patch of openness. It seemed as though I were in a darkened sphere of open area, surrounded on all sides by thick brush.
Scattered around this area were mounds of earth, with simple wooden crosses stuck into the head of each. I'd stumbled into a small graveyard, probably about 25-30 graves in all.
This is where the bodies went. She didn't file paperwork. That had been a feint. She, or more likely, she and a friend would drag them back here and bury them. But, she buried them, and marked their grave. That kind of caring couldn't come from a stone-cold killer, could it?
I felt as though that I needed to get out of Melancholy, and quick.
Chapter 10
As a non-religious man, I firmly believe coincidence exists. I've had several great coincidences myself. What happened in the graveyard before my eyes is easily one of the best coincidences I've ever had.
I heard voices after I made my discovery of the graveyard and dove back into the bushes. I winced in pain as I landed on a stubborn shrub that didn't want to be displaced. As I repositioned myself, I saw a Pounder and a Sharper enter the graveyard from the other side. The Sharper was carrying a body, the Pounder a shovel. They were here to dig a grave. Clearly this operation was unplanned, seeing as there weren't any empty graves. All of them were filled. I gulped as I realized I could very easily end up covered by one of these dirt blankets.
The Pounder chose a spot in the middle and began digging. The Sharper appeared to be the look-out but seemed preoccupied, staring off into space. I watched the body as the Sharper held it carelessly over his shoulder. It was a woman in a soft white dress with heels to match. She was completely limp. There was an air of familiarity from this woman's shape. My neck hairs rose in a
tickling sensation; I had seen this woman before but where?
It shouldn't be too hard to remember her, as I rarely meet women. Being a self-coined vigilante definitely had its drawbacks that sort of put me in a category of 'un-datable', as most people in general didn’t care for my craft. I was fine with this, as being a loner taught me much about self-maintenance without the need for companionship.
Most of the women I’d lately interacted with were digital, and this one didn’t fit with those I’d met. Slowly, I slipped my HUD from my pocket onto my face and attempted to zoom in on the operation. Maybe I could get a face shot and that would jog my memory. The Pounder was about halfway into digging the grave. He didn't even seem to be sweating or tiring at all, but effortlessly repeating his motions. The Sharper continued to poorly monitor his surroundings as the body slowly began slip off his shoulder, slither down his arm, and hit the ground, landing in an undignified pose. As he lifted her back up, I finally got a view of her face.
My eyes grew wide when I realized who it was: Rimer. At least, it was the woman I had seen dragging me into my home when I was doped up on Shift, and who I presumed attempted to take control of me over Persistence. At that point, I wasn't sure that the woman who had dropped me off and the one that controlled me were the same, but it was the only thing that made sense. It created the continuity that I needed.
The Pounder finished and let the Sharper drop the body into the grave. They quickly pushed dirt over her and produced a wooden cross, giving credence to this grave. Finally, they left the way they came in.
Coincidence certainly brought me to this location to witness this act. It was the only explanation. My head began to spin again. That couldn't be the real Rimer in that grave. That must be another decoy. Were all these graves botched decoys of the real Rimer? I scanned the graveyard, counting each grave that I noticed. Twenty-eight, including the new one. Twenty-eight graves, but how long had this been going on? I wondered how old this garden really was...
I waited for what seemed to be an eternity and finally crept from my hiding place. I was alone in the graveyard once more and decided that it was most definitely time to get the hell out. I moved as silently as possible along the path, taking care to avoid all twigs that would snap under my feet and somehow made it through undetected. I am not one for trail craft; I'm closer to a basement dweller than anything. However, I managed to pull this off without a hitch.
Returning to the main drag had never felt better. Initially the hidden forest had given me a sense of release, a sense of peace (though that had more to do with the happy-spores than anything), but now it felt like chilling death. I decided to continue on with my planned visit, maybe my jacker buddy of olde could help. Calvin had been his original name, before he sank into the depths of Persistence. Now he went by some other name, though that had been lost to me. I'd always remembered him as Cal.
After a short and uneventful walk, I was at the bus stop. This one was slightly nicer than the others, as it had a covered bench for waiting in the rain. Fortunately the sun was still out, but I availed myself of the seat and waited for the #9 bus to come. It would take me to the general vicinity where Cal lived and then I'd have about a half-mile hike to his squalid apartment.
This time nobody bothered me. The bus came within ten minutes of my arrival and I was off. Nobody talked to me; nobody even gave me a sideways glance. I rode in silence, glancing out at the ruined cityscape as we went. So much despair was written in the facades of empty buildings. It was especially depressing when paired with the beautiful sunshine beaming down out of the cloud-covered skies. The bus halted a few times, crunching to a halt to allow a few passengers to disembark. A few scraggly looking old-timers boarded in a cafe-district, having finished their mid-afternoon coffee and bullshit session. We passed a few more stops and then arrived at mine.
Here, the sun was blotted out by the high-rise buildings. Stacks upon stacks of broken down apartments reached into the sky like stubby black fingers, some even piercing the clouds. These were places where rent could be cheaply found, even paid for in favors. Slumlords rarely visited these places for fear of their lives; tenants more apt to harm than pay the owner. Cal lived on the 23rd floor in one of these buildings, he had said that I'd recognize it by the faux-roses surrounding the entry way. Apparently addresses, and even building names, were relentlessly ignored in this area. Luckily I recalled his instructions from the first time I’d met him. Heading south from the bus stop, I steeled myself for whatever might lie in the dark alleyways ahead.
Chapter 11
I had been walking for what seemed like hours. With the buildings blotting out the sky, I couldn't really get an accurate sense of time. There was also this strange sense of foreboding that had taken root within me, starting in my gut and spreading throughout my nervous system. I was tingling with nervous anticipation, and for what, I wasn't sure.
That stressed me out even more.
Due south from the bust stop was what Cal had said and I thought I had done just that. I had put on my glasses and called a small digitized compass to float ethereally in my peripheral, guiding me southward.
I nearly tripped over a garbage can while focusing on the compass. Some thoughtless passerby had knocked it over onto the sidewalk. In what felt to me to be the first good deed I'd done for mankind of recent memory, I righted the garbage can. Now to await good fortune and karma. Nothing happened. Of course not. I was lost in this dank neighborhood.
The sidewalks were surprisingly empty. I had figured that there would be some kind of humanity, especially here. Needle-heads, prostitutes, pushers, somebody at least. The only object to complete the empty picture would be a tumbleweed, or perhaps a lone newspaper whimsically blowing around the gutter.
Enough with this crap. I tapped a button on the side of my glasses, and a wireless connection to Persistence popped up. Not quite as fast or efficient as my home jack, but it would do in a pinch. I spoke softly 'search' and was presented with a text box in front of my left eye. I said, in clipped phrases, 'Calvin, apartment, local map.' Once I was satisfied with what appeared in the box, I said 'Search.' The box faded away in a mist, and was replaced with 'Searching...'
'
It occurred to me, as I looked at the list of Calvins and corresponding locations, that not ever learning last names made these guys that much more difficult to locate. Which is exactly what these guys were going for, I figured. Reflecting back, even if I did ask for the last name of Cal or Julio I would have been met with a smug "Who wants to know?" and possibly looking down the wrong end of a gun barrel. These guys didn't mess around with their business and kept me entirely 'business'. I became amused at the fact that my friends probably consider me an acquaintance at best, an enemy at worst. The thought of becoming an enemy to these guys made my mouth dry up.
This list of Calvins still loomed in front of me, offering several guesses as to whom my acquaintance might be. The transparency of my HUD for Persistence was just a touch too solid, obscuring my vision in front of me. I didn't even notice the man had approached me.
He spoke in a cheerful southern drawl, "Kinda weird to see a non-local in this part of town. And at this hour!" He whistled after that, the sort that you might hear when you are told big news, like how a man survived a shooting, or saved a small kitten from a well. The voice startled me and I flailed a bit, trying to shut off my HUD.
The man was wearing a straw hat, red flannel shirt and tan pants held up by suspenders. I blinked at the sight of him. He looked like an extra out of a very old western or possibly some low-budget comedy. I uttered a sound out that didn't resemble anything remotely clos
e to words.
"Eh? What you say lad?" the man said, and winked at me. As he winked, I noticed a glint of light coming from his eyelid. Something tugged at the back of my memory and I instinctively flicked my HUD back on.
That was enough. I flipped my HUD off.
"Cal!" I exclaimed, "You look ridiculous! And that last name and address, Persistence fell for that?" My outburst made Cal grin. He dropped the drawl, "I heard you were rolling into town. Follow me, let’s partake in a drink." And with that, we made our way through the dilapidated apartment buildings. We came upon one that, though seedy, seemed as though it once was breathtaking. Pitted faux-marble pillars guarded an aging set of doors made of brass. A chunk of concrete held one of the massive doors open. The inside was not nearly as impressive. We made our way through a maze of apartment hallways, down through tunnels and finally into an area that had two armed, but old, guardbots. Cal winked again and the door slid open. We went inside his home, though the term ‘home’ was a bit of a stretch. I was surrounded by terminals, data jacks, and monitors. Several audio feeds were being piped through speakers marked