The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  I shrink behind a tree trunk. My heart is pumping hard and loud.

  What now? What can I do? How am I supposed to overcome the gorillas without my ability?

  I reach for the Taser under my sweatshirt. My fingers shake as I try to flick off the safety. It's not easy. Will it work even? What if it doesn't? Or what if the charge isn't strong enough? Or...

  I listen to the approaching footsteps trampling through the undergrowth.

  My heart misses a beat.

  The guy barges out of the bushes right at me. He's huge and disheveled with a bloody-minded expression on his unshaven face. He might actually just tear me in two, literally.

  He throws his giant fists in the air. A funny little shriek escapes my lungs. Taser in outstretched hand, I step toward him. What did Greene say? I should aim for his heart, shouldn't I?

  I miss it entirely. I just poke him mid-chest and press the button.

  I hear a crackling noise. The stench of burned flesh hits my nostrils. The impact throws me back onto the tree.

  The disheveled guy arches his back, staring meaninglessly. Then he drops backwards and just lies there in the slippery mud with his arms thrown wide.

  His body slides slightly downhill. The sweater on his chest is smoking, apparently smoldering.

  Cautiously I stand up straight and shift my gaze from my attacker to the Taser in my hand.

  Greene knew what he was doing. This is indeed one hell of a powerful weapon. Does it have some kind of enhanced guardian-targeted charge?

  It's discharged now, anyway. I can't use it. I quickly frisk the man. He has nothing on him I could use as a weapon.

  Not good.

  The others are bound to arrive soon. I break into a run, stopping occasionally for a quick listen, then resume my flight. Branches lash my face. My feet keep slipping in the mud. Hoarse wheezy breaths escape my chest.

  Soon I finally clear the wretched undergrowth and run toward the lake. The shore is rocky with lots of boulders piled up around. I have to slow down if I don't want to break both my legs.

  The area is completely deserted. The water breathes a chilly cold. Ducks quack softly in the bulrushes.

  Where now? I have to turn back, don't I?

  I swing round. My heart drops.

  My old friend Ramiro is standing not ten paces away from me, pointing his gun. Next to him towers yet another guardian: this one is wearing the orange coverall of a janitor with a small bag over one shoulder.

  Jesus. Are Emma and I really so important to justify all this special-ops stage setting?

  "Hi, guapa," Ramiro stares at me expectantly as if trying to second-guess my actions. Will I start darting about the shore? Or jump in the lake and make a swim for it? Either way, he can shoot me at his own convenience. Does he know I can't use my powers?

  "Put the gun down," I say.

  With a grin, he clicks the safety catch of his gun.

  There you are, Sarah. End of the line. Let's see how you get yourself out of this mess.

  Chris

  I'm surrounded by a thick, gelatinous darkness. It's blue like the curtained gloom of my old nursery and warm like my Donald Duck comforter. It feels good. I don't have to do anything. Nothing urgent to clear up, nothing to fear.

  I'm floating in this void free from time or worry. Can't remember how long I've been here. Not that it matters, really. I don't want it to end.

  Then a sudden thought pierces my body like a hot needle, upwards from the soles of my feet right through my head.

  Anxiety stirs in my chest. That's how I used to feel just before... just before what?

  That's what I felt just before they shot my mother.

  I blink, struggling to breathe. I can feel my body now. I want to touch it, to reach for my face, but I can't. Something won't let me do it. My arms seem to be immobilized. The crease of my elbow prickles as if there's a needle stuck in it.

  Something's not right.

  I can hear a voice calling me. It's weak and muted by the rustling of leaves and the snapping of branches.

  Where the hell are you when I need you the most?

  Sarah

  Chris, where are you? I think in desperation. Where the hell are you when I need you the most?

  My legs begin to shake. I watch the gun rise, staring at the tiny black hole about to release a bullet. Not long now.

  The sights seem to graze against my skin. Finally, they set on my chest.

  "Put the gun down," I repeat.

  He shakes his head. "Sorry, guapa. Come here to me."

  The "janitor" next to him opens his shoulder bag. Silently he fills a syringe with some yellow liquid from a vial. What's it gonna do to me? Will they kidnap me?

  "Come over here," Ramiro repeats.

  I bite my lip. What now? What else can I do?

  I begin to back off until I stumble across a large boulder. I climb on top of it. This way I can always dive into the lake if push comes to shove. Most likely, I'll just smash my head on the rocks. Ah, whatever.

  Chris

  I'm being pulled out of my oblivion. It feels like resurfacing from a deep dive. I gulp in the air, staring up at the gray ceiling. Mechanically I press my hands to my ears to block out a desperate, fearful scream. I'm petrified by the horror which isn't my own.

  I know whose fear I'm feeling. Gosh I'm so fed up with her! And still I'm afraid of losing her. I need her so much my blood freezes. I've only just understood I can't be without her.

  I clench my teeth, trying not to scream.

  Sarah.

  She's about to die.

  Sarah

  "You'd better come here," Ramiro says, lowering the gun to aim at my leg, "or I might just lose my patience."

  "Come on, don't just talk about it," the "janitor" says. "We'll fix her up at the base."

  Ramiro shakes his head at me, disapproving of my non-cooperation, then takes aim. I take in a lungful of air and prepare to dive.

  Then everything changes.

  I'm different inside. It's as if someone has given me a triple shot of adrenaline - on top of my already taut nerves.

  Chris.

  I can feel him.

  "Put the gun down," I command.

  Ramiro startles. His wide open eyes begin to glaze over. Excruciatingly slowly he begins to lower his weapon.

  The other one seems to realize what's happening. He goes for me, pulling out his own gun.

  "Freeze!" I tell him.

  He stops mid-step as if hitting a brick wall, then collapses in a heap.

  Ramiro's gun hand lowers obediently, but I can see his other hand reaching under his jacket.

  "Sleep," I tell him.

  His eyes roll. Then, for a split second before he too slumps to the ground, I seem to be able to read his mind. The bond between us grows strong, as if someone has just plugged me into his brain.

  What a strange feeling. For a brief moment, I become Ramiro, a burly guy from Bajos del Ejido.

  My back hurts: it always does on cold, rainy days like this. My feet are wet; my nose is congested; I seem to be developing a head cold.

  I hate all this rushing around, chasing those stupid carrier girls. Guys are better, at least you know how to handle them, but girls... they start crying and screaming for help, begging you not to hurt them, and that really gets to you.

  And if you need to shoot them, that's the worst. Then you have to drink for days trying to forget it.

  I used to have a carrier of my own once. He was from California. I worked in San Diego at the time driving an ice-cream van. I remember him jogging on the beach with his dog, a Golden retriever. They do say that dog owners resemble their pets; well, this one definitely did.

  He ran up to my van and waited by the door. I peered out, checked the beach and slipped a couple grams into his hand. He grinned, then pricked my palm with what felt like an ice needle - one of his tricks, - then he ran off without as much as a thank-you. My hand felt deep frozen for a while.

  What
a douchebag! I would have done anything for him but all he cared about was his fix. A month later he died of an overdose. Shit happens.

  Another memory floods over me, sharp and brief like the sound of snapping fingers. A gray street streaked with rain. A skinny guy with a faceful of piercings grins, squinting his heavily made-up eyes.

  He's full of himself. He throws his hand up, causing one of our carriers to fly through the air. The carrier's head hits the steel railing of the fire escape with a soft crunching sound, then leans listlessly on his shoulder. His body slumps to the ground.

  I scream, pointing my MA-12 in front of me, and shower our assailant with bullets. I hate him. I hate them all!

  My vision blurs. Now I'm standing in the lobby of an imposing mansion, all marble and polished wood. In the back, a spiral staircase snakes its way upward.

  An enormous chandelier, so huge you could easily hide a couple men inside it, dangles from the ceiling high overhead. Right beneath it, Diana is talking to some black guy dressed in a style best described as "posh casual". I know him: he hosts some sort of political TV show. The guy is tense: he's definitely not at ease with Diana.

  She hands him a manila folder. I can clearly see a curled-up snake on its cover, shaped as a figure of eight. Her lips move - she must be giving him her usual sales pitch, promising protection and whatnot. Now everything depends on whether he buys it or not.

  The man opens the folder and starts leafing through the paperwork. He raises a surprised eyebrow. Good. That's the reaction we want from him.

  Having finished with the folder, he asks us to wait and goes upstairs. Diana and I exchange glances. I nod and follow him. A nasty surprise is the last thing we need. We don't have time for them.

  The second floor, too, is all fake columns and chandeliers. The man walks the whole length of the corridor and disappears in the room furthest from the entrance, leaving the door ajar. I walk noiselessly over and take a peek.

  I can see a cabinet with its doors swung open. The guy is facing it, rustling through some papers inside. I can hear a thin beeping sound. Apparently, he's got a strongbox in there. How very predictable.

  ...Ramiro collapses to the ground, severing our connection. My head goes round. I feel my body with my hands, uncomprehending: who am I? Whose body is it?

  Take it easy, Sarah.

  I take a deep breath, then release it slowly. Yes, I'm Sarah. This is Central Park. Two burly guardians are lying sprawled in the mud before me, unconscious. No idea how long I can keep them like that.

  Why did I get my powers back, anyway? Has Chris come round?

  I look about me. No other guardians in sight. So I start running again, giving the lying bodies a wide birth, sweating and panting until I finally get to a busier part of the park.

  I find some cops and shout to them as I run, "I heard some shooting over there!"

  "Please wait here, ma'am," they tell me before hurrying away in the direction I point to. I ignore the order and keep running, weaving my way through the crowd.

  Finally, the park is over. I slow down, trying to fade into the crowd. The Hermetis building is still a good ten minutes' walk away.

  I try a shortcut through a narrow side street lined with warehouses. It's quiet and deserted. I put the hood on, slide my hands into my pockets and walk faster. It's not long now. The Hermetis building should be round that corner-

  "Freeze or I'll shoot!" a voice shouts behind me.

  I know this voice. It's weak and timid. She just can't bring herself to say something like this, can she?

  Slowly I turn round. Emma is standing behind me, pointing a huge gun which looks ridiculous in her tiny hands. I'd have laughed had she not been pointing it at me.

  What's going on? Is she crazy? "What do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm sorry," Emma intones in her soothing, soft soprano, "I just needed a bit of space. You can't imagine what it feels like when Adam controls your every movement. I just want a life for myself."

  So it was her, then. She set me up. She sold me to the Agency.

  The understanding hurts more than her words even. How could I have ever been so blind! I should have seen through her little scheme!

  I can't sense Chris any more, either. Just to please. He's cut off, our connection severed, no network coverage available. Chris, dammit, where are you?

  I clench my hands into fists. "You little shit."

  Blinking, Emma shrinks back without lowering the gun. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean it. But you left me no choice."

  What does she mean, I left her no choice? She had plenty of choice! How about not luring me out of the building? How about not sending the Agency after me?

  Choking on my fury, I'm trying to think logically. I need to bid for time. My powers might kick back in, you never know. Or someone might walk past - anyone, preferably a cop.

  "Listen," I show her my hands, "Please put the gun down. You don't want to kill me, do you? I thought we were friends..."

  Her smile sends shivers down my spine. She reminds me of Greene now: the sharp, cunning muzzle of a little predator showing behind her goodie-two-shoes mask.

  "Do you really think I wanted you as a friend? Anyway, I'm not going back. Ever. Even if I have to get rid of ten stuck-up bitches like you."

  Now that hurt. "You should have taken Greene along. He's worth more as a bargaining chip."

  She shakes her head. "They didn't want Greene. They wanted you."

  Me? Really? I thought they were after all carriers, regardless of their powers?

  I try a different approach. "Adam will go mad when he finds out."

  For a split second, she seems to lose her cool, only to regain it straight away. "You know nothing about Adam. Or myself," she nods at the dark end of the street behind my back. "Over there. Make it quick. I said, quick!"

  Slowly I turn round. A navy blue Ford with tinted windows slows to a halt behind some scaffolded building not a hundred feet away from me. My fingertips prickle with icy fear.

  "Move it!" Emma commands behind me. I can hear her footsteps approach.

  I try to walk as slowly as I can until she pokes me in the back with her gun. I have to step it up.

  So that's the end, then. So much for my little jogging practice. Now they're going to truss me up and take me somewhere way beyond Adam Vector's reach. He'll never find me.

  Bye, New York! Bye, Chris! Bye, life!

  "Put your gun down."

  This is Adam. This is his voice, only different. This isn't his usual soft intonation: this voice is loud and hard-edged. It sets my nerves in edge, tying my guts in a knot, forcing my hair to stand on end.

  Some power he's got!

  With a short shriek, Emma drops the gun and covers her face, petrified.

  Adam walks toward us. His long cashmere coat hangs open, its skirts flapping around his legs like a big bird's wings. He isn't wearing a tie. Icy fury fills his glare, his mouth hard and cruel.

  He's found me! How did he do that?

  He stops next to Emma, looming over her while she bends lower, howling softly, too scared to look up. What a terrible sight. She is crazy, now I can see that.

  "You're a bad girl, Emma," Adam pauses, looking at me, about to add something but reconsiders. He looks relieved.

  "Sleep," he tells Emma.

  Obediently she collapses onto her side.

  He peers in the direction of the Agency Ford, then hugs my shoulders and draws me away toward the Hermetis building. I can barely keep up with him.

  We turn a corner and walk right into Greene and Heaven. Greene gives me a wink and a toothy smile.

  "Go and get her," Adam nods at Emma lying listlessly on the road before drawing me further on.

  The street is busier here, allowing us to mix with the crowd. I know this part of the street: we're a stone's throw away from Hermetis. I keep turning my head looking for the Agency guardians but see none.

  Soon we're back in the building's lobby. A reporter rushes to
ward Adam, microphone in hand. Adam shoves him unceremoniously aside and steers me through the turnstiles and into the furthest deserted corner of the hall.

  There he finally turns to face me. "All I want to know: what the fuck? Why did you have to do it? Didn't you have enough trouble already? Imagine if Greene hadn't told me, then what?"

  I gulp the air like a stranded carp. Words and excuses have deserted me, leaving me face to face with my infuriated boss. "I didn't know... I had no idea... I thought that Emma..."

  He swings round, stepping away from me, then comes back and wipes the perspiration from his brow. He doesn't seem to give a damn about people watching.

  "She's your apprentice," I offer a new excuse. "You introduced her to us. Of course I trusted her!"

  He lowers his hand from his face. "What did she tell you?"

  "She said she had an appointment. You told her to pick up some papers from someone. She was afraid to go there on her own."

  He shakes his head. "All bullshit. I didn't tell her anything."

  "I gathered that. But why would she lie?"

  "We had an argument. I thought we'd agreed to disagree. Apparently, I was wrong."

  Weren't we all! This girl had us all wrapped around her little finger. Had it not been for Adam, I'd have been on my way to the Agency now. Either that, or dead.

  A thought strikes me. "Wait a sec. How did you know where to look for me?"

  "Your pass card. It has a built-in tracking device, doesn't it?"

  The realization sobers me up like a cold shower. Have they been spying on me from day one? Very nice.

  I pull the card out of my pocket and slam it to the floor. "What the hell!"

  "Well, what do you want? We can't just stand and watch you getting constantly into trouble!" Adam heaves a sigh and picks up the card, then hands it back to me. "Here."

  Biting my lip, I turn away. I'm not having it back. What, do they want to keep me like a dog on a leash? They lied to me! They slipped a tracking device on me! They've been following me all this time!

  Adam walks over to me and lays his hand on my shoulder, peering in my face. He's so close I can feel his breath on my cheeks. My knees feel weak for some reason.