by JK Ellem
Something streaked past her head, invisible but solid, and hit the wall behind her, punching a small hole in the brickwork, scorching the edges and spraying shards of concrete over her.
“Damn it!” He fumbled with the setting on the grip of the gun, increasing the intensity.
The man edged closer, sniveling with rage and saliva, his face twisted like a madman. He couldn’t miss now. He raised the gun and pointed again at Magnolia.
He took careful aim and pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” he screamed. He looked at the power meter on the side of the weapon: three bars red. The power core had depleted, he had been too careless, too haphazard during the Dominion, blowing up walls, bridges and entire city blocks on the maximum setting with the weapon instead of conserving its power.
Magnolia didn’t hesitate. She sprang, burying her blade into the man’s chest and out his back. She whipped the blade out and he withered to the ground.
One left.
Magnolia streaked sideways and sprinted around the curve of the passageway. Two drones tilted then sped after her.
Further along the passageway a metal sign hung from the ceiling with the words, “Fire Escape”. She sped on past it and came to a recessed block wall with a fire extinguisher next to a solid-looking door.
Above the door was a plastic lightbox sign that hadn’t been illuminated for decades, with the words “Exit” in green lettering.
Magnolia turned and looked back along the passageway. She could hear feet, heavy and fast, coming towards her. She slammed her shoulder into the heavy locking bar and the door burst inwards revealing a stairwell that faded into the darkness below. It smelt of dust and urine. She had no choice if she was going to escape.
With what little light she had with the door pushed open, she committed to memory the configuration of the first set of stairs. Ten steps down then a landing. Keep turning left then another ten steps down. She let go of the door, grabbed the hand rail, and the stairwell plunged into darkness.
Ten steps, turn, ten steps, turn, Magnolia counted. She was totally blind, descending into a narrow shaft thick with blackness that pressed around her like a living thing.
She reached the third landing when the metal sound of the door opening echoed down from above. She looked up and saw a rectangle of dull light then the sweep of focused beams bouncing off the walls towards her. She flattened herself against the wall, away from the probing beams of light, and worked her way down the stairs.
A cone of vertical light cut down the middle of the stairwell followed by a loud mechanical whine from above. A drone plummeted down the central void of the stairwell and came to an abrupt halt across from Magnolia. It swiveled and focused its twin spot lights on her, blinding her in a harsh brightness.
The sound of booted feet, from above and below converged on her, armed security guards, ugly weapons in their hands with torches under the barrels poured down from above and rose up from below and formed a cordon around her.
She backed up and snarled at them like a caged animal, her face covered in blood and human matter, her hair matted with sweat, dirt and dust, bleeding raw knuckles curled tight around the grip of her sword, poised ready to kill. She was going to die anyway so she was determined to take as many of them as she could with her.
The ranks of guards parted and a man pushed through. He was tall, dark haired and wore a high collared tunic with the Octagon logo across his chest. He had the presence of someone who was unimportant, but who was filled with ambition.
To the others, Magnolia Gray looked like vermin, a heinous killer destined to stand in an execution cube. To him, he saw something else in her. The future.
His voice was calm, almost soothing. “Magnolia, please, put down the sword.”
Magnolia tensed, raising her katana a little higher. The guards pressed forward, fingers tightened on triggers.
The man held up his hand, “They will kill you if you don’t.”
“I’m as good as dead anyway,” she spat. “You lied to me! You all lied to me!”
The man smiled as though he was the only person who had the answer to a question no one could answer. “Everything is a lie Magnolia. If you embrace that fact, you will live a little longer in this world.”
Magnolia stood her ground.
He raised his eyebrows. “Please, put your weapon down. It is too beautiful to damage. It would be such a waste. You would be such a waste.”
She hesitated. “I’m going to die.”
The man took a deep breath. He was running out of patience. “We all die at some stage.” He stepped closer, ignoring the menace in her eyes. He had courage, courage beyond his peers. “But you are not going to die today. I have a use for you. But if you wish to die today then just say the word and it shall be so.”
For a few moments Magnolia said nothing, just looked around the cramped space. She was backed into the corner, twenty guards, weapons trained on her, ready to tear her to shreds. She was a survivor, always had been. She had survived Exile. She had survived the first Dominion. She just needed to survive today, then she would figure out how to live another day, then another and another. That was her mantra: live one day at a time.
“Is this another lie? You will let me live?”
The man smiled. She was a fast learner.
“I give you my word. It’s no lie.”
“And who are you?”
“My name is Kalus.”
Slowly, Magnolia lowered her katana, then slid it into the scabbard on her back. She unbuckled the straps and held it horizontally with both hands in front of her.
Her fight was over. She had won.
Twenty gun barrels followed her downwards as she knelt on the floor, placing her the katana carefully, respectfully on the ground in front of her.
Kalus stepped back, waving the guards as well to given her some room.
Magnolia placed her palms on the ground and bowed. Then she slowly got to her feet and looked at Kalus.
A guard stepped forward, a pair of steel restraints in his hands.
Kalus waved him off. “Don’t chain her.”
There was a respectful nod from Magnolia.
“Take her away,” Kalus said.
Moments later Kalus found himself alone in the stairwell, a drone his only companion, illuminating the landing. He picked up the katana. The majestic blade was sheathed safely in its scabbard, a smooth curve of lacquered orange wood. Something beautiful on the surface hiding something deadly underneath.
Kalus looked around, enjoying the solitude for once, a man alone with nothing but his thoughts and plans. It was so rare in a world where your every move was watched, studied and recorded. He didn’t feel tired, he felt excited. So much to do, and so many things were going to change. He needed to plant his seeds now to capitalize on the future. And for him, what he had seen today, Magnolia Gray was one of those seeds.
Call it a premonition or superstition, but as he looked at the katana in his hands, he had a feeling he needed to leave it behind, to leave it for someone else, an investment in the future for him. He laid the katana against the wall in the corner then turned and began walking down the stairs. The drone fell in behind his shoulder, lighting the way for him, the darkness closing behind him.
11
FAITH
“Well fuck me! Look what the cat dragged in.”
Two aircrew men stood at the top of the ramp of the air-transport watching a contingent of guards march across the field towards them.
“Mate you owe me fifty credits,” the taller one said. They both looked on in disbelief as Magnolia Gray, surrounded by guards approached. The air-transport had settled on to a field across from the stadium, its massive ion engines idling, leaving large burn circles in the ground.
“I’ll be damned,” the shorter one replied. “It’s just her. No survivors, just her.”
The group stopped at the bottom of the ramp. Both men walked down the ramp, grinning faces
under their helmets. “Well, well, well,” the taller one said. “Looks like we’re going to have that party after all.”
A guard pushed her forward. “No harm is to come to her. Do you both understand?”
“Sure,” the shorter one said. “We’ll take good care of her.” He nodded at his partner and sniggered.
“Where’s her restraints?” the taller one asked.
“She has no weapons,” the guard replied. “She’s just a woman. You flyboys must be a bunch of pussies or something,” the guard scoffed. “Lock her in her seat if you have to.” The guard turned and led his men away muttering under his breath, “Fucking babysitters.”
“Let’s go.” The taller one nodded towards the inside of the cargo bay.
Magnolia looked up, her face a filthy smudge of dried blood, ribbons of someone else’s flesh, and grime.
Both men looked at each other. “Christ what happened down there?”
“I don’t want to know,” the shorter one replied, a disgusted look on his face. “Christ, she smells like death.”
The taller one slapped him on the back. “Stop bitching. Once we’re airborne, we’ll use the fire hose on her. Strip her down, wash her off.”
“Good. I ain’t fucking no swamp creature.”
Magnolia walked up the ramp and inside, the two airmen following her with their hands on their weapons. The ramp slowly rose with a hydraulic groan, the propulsion engines changed pitch, building up power, and the decking began to vibrate.
Magnolia found the seat along the bulkhead she had sat in on the flight in and paused. The airframe shuddered and the transport began to lift off.
“Get in your seat bitch.” The taller man stood behind her. “Once we’re in the air the party begins.” He chuckled and looked over at his partner who was standing by the cargo ramp controls. The ramp locked into place with a mechanical clunk closing off the outside. There was no escape now.
“I said sit down!”
Magnolia spun around and thrust the drone blade she had hidden in her sleeve deep into his throat. Long arcs of crimson, velvety and hot spurted from the side of his neck. He desperately clawed at his throat, his eyes wide in shock, his life pumping out of him.
Magnolia grabbed his sidearm out of its holster.
“What the—” The man at the ramp controls reached for his sidearm, but Magnolia already had the gun out. She aimed and pulled the trigger and a split second later the explosive-tipped bullet hit him between the eyes, splattering his head inside his helmet.
The taller man collapsed at Magnolia’s feet, gurgling sounds coming from his mouth, blood seeping between the grooves and channels in the metal decking. She looked down at him, blew him a kiss, leveled the gun at his head and pulled the trigger.
Five minutes into the flight the air-transport rolled violently, its starboard wingtip tilting dangerously towards the ground, setting off an alarm in the cockpit as the machine began to lose lift. But then slowly recovered and resumed its smooth ascent.
Magnolia Gray didn’t know how to fly, she didn’t need to. The pilot knew how to fly, and with a gun pressed to his head, he was more than willing to take her anywhere she wanted to go.
She had faith in herself, but not in the lies of others.
THE END.
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Turn the page for a Free Exclusive Look at Octagon – Book 1 of the Octagon Trilogy
Octagon - Book 1 of the Octagon Trilogy
Bureau of Public Order – Directive
Persons caught in the possession of an Internet or network connection: punishment is death.
Persons caught in the possession of a computer: you will be sent to Exile for reconditioning.
Persons who disrupt the flow of public order: you will be sent to Exile for reconditioning.
Remember:
“Your wellbeing is our priority”
Happy Holidays
BPO Communiqué – 01/01/30
PART I
HELL
Cadet Log Entry #37: January 2039.
Subject: Jon Kobe, 18, Male.
Status: First Year Cadet - Law Enforcement Academy (LEA)
Precinct: 1 - New Los Angeles
Competency: Hand-to-Hand Combat
My nose was bleeding, possibly broken. Bright crimson drops of velvety blood splashed onto the tatami mat, just inches from my face like ink on blotting paper. A forensic expert in blood spatter patterns would have come to only one conclusion about what I was experiencing at this very moment: pain.
I was on my hands and knees. Blinding pain split through my head and my teeth ached. The instructor knelt down beside me and said something to me. As I stared at him, words formed on his lips, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The left side of my face was numb and there was an incessant ringing in my ears. I could hear the dull moan of the other cadets who crowded around me, some laughing, others with expressions of concern. And for a brief moment, I didn’t know where I was.
I lifted one gloved hand to touch my jaw and moved it side to side. Relief; it wasn’t broken. As my vision cleared, I craned my head upwards and saw my opponent, kneeling on the mat with his back to me.
What had happened? I was still groggy, but slowly, my mind cleared as the fog of concussion lifted, and I realized what had unfolded only moments before.
I saw a clear opening in my opponent’s guard. It was a narrow gap, between his elbow and torso, but wide enough for my heart to skip a beat from that surge of adrenalin you get when you feel that twinge of excitement in that exact moment. That moment when you realize the prize is yours, it’s within reach and you can take it and win. In that very moment when the opportunity presents itself, it opens up before your very eyes, like the petals of a flower, unfurling to reveal the jewel hidden within.
I stepped through, crouching, and threw a full-blooded reverse punch, fully extending my reach, hips rotating, low and hard to my opponent’s ribs, just under his left elbow. There was no holding back. I was going to punch a hole clear through his torso.
I thought my right fist would feel the soft impact of doughy flesh as my strike hit home, but it just cut through thin air.
Nothing.
Emptiness, then fear.
I had made a mistake. I was now overextended, unbalanced and vulnerable.
Then searing pain ballooned in the side of my head. It felt like my brain was bouncing back and forth against the inside of my skull. The training hall tilted sideways and the floor rushed up and met the side of my face with a jarring slap. I lost all vision and sense of consciousness.
My opponent had fooled me, thrown a fake opening so to speak. He lifted his left elbow ever so slightly and opened up his left flank, on purpose, to draw me into what I thought was an opening in his guard. As I took the bait and lunged forward, thinking he had blundered, he threw his left hip back and pivoted off his left leg to deliver a crushing roundhouse kick to the side of my head with his right foot.
Up until now, I had never really been hit hard. Sure, during cadet combat training and sparring, you get hit, but not really hit. Like your world goes dark kind of hit. How and what I felt just moments
before was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I was stunned, in shock, unsure of myself. All my confidence was draining away, out my body, and disappearing between the tiny gaps in the mat flooring.
I was in a place I had never visited before, and I didn’t want to ever visit again.
I was in hell, or so I thought…
1
New Los Angeles 2042 – Present Day
The body was wrapped in plastic, like discarded trash, lying amongst the filth and grime that filled and clogged the storm drain in the narrow alleyway. Blood coated the inside of the plastic sheet, like inkblots, smeared in patterns of crimson. The smell of blood starting to coagulate mixed with the putrid stench of rotting food circled the body like a physical barrier. Dark clouds boiled overhead, threatening rain, as scatters of heat lightning fractured the night sky, illuminating the walls and wet ground with strobe-like lighting.
First Year Officer Jon Kobe squatted beside the body and pulled on a pair of disposable examination gloves. He hated the way they felt against his skin, heightening the sensitivity of everything he touched. Holding a torch, he peeled back a partial corner of the plastic sheath to reveal a head of bludgeoned pulp too disfigured to immediately identify male or female. The beam of light revealed in harsh detail the brutal injuries inflicted on the person’s face, like a human canvas painted in various layers of violence and anger.
The facial geometry was all wrong. Crumpled in some spots, split open in others. Beneath the layers of disfigurement lay the face of a normal person.
From the size of the body, Kobe knew this was an adolescent, not a full grown adult, but the once smooth and youthful features were replaced with a bloody mess of twisted cartilage and raw flesh. From what he could see, one eye was swollen shut, bloated and bruised. The cheek on one side was indented, sunken, the bone probably shattered. Blood matted the hair so that it stuck like a red paste to the face. Opening the plastic sheet a little further, Kobe panned his flashlight down the body, revealing a small bare arm that was a patchwork of angry purple contusions, where the blood vessels had ruptured, seeping blood under the skin’s surface.
