The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  We climb into one of them. Cox squeezes his huge frame into the driver's seat and starts the engine. The moment the doors slam shut, he rockets off.

  Magna is sitting next to him, with Diana, Ramiro and myself in the back. All of them are armed and wearing earpieces except me.

  I reach my hand out to Diana. She turns away, indifferent.

  "Didn't the General say I could have a gun?"

  "Forget it," she snaps.

  "He's not gonna like it."

  "You're still not having one."

  "Keep your filthy hands away from her," Ramiro says, stroking the black handle of the neural suppressor in his lap. "All we need is a flaky Daddy's boy with a gun."

  I press my back harder into the seat's fob, feeling the Taser behind my belt. If push comes to shove, I can instantly whip it out and use it at a moment's notice.

  When we turn into Blake Avenue, a police chopper crosses the black sky between the buildings.

  The streets are empty. It feels as if the whole city is lying in waiting.

  "The debates are tomorrow," Diana says when Cox throws the car into a bend. "Tomorrow nine p.m."

  "That's right," I say. "In Vegas. That's why Adam needs to get there. It's a long way for a copter, so he has to travel by plane."

  "He probably hired one. Or just booked a ticket," Magna says. "Hermetis doesn't own a plane in New York."

  "Luckily, we do," Cox booms. His position is awkward, his chest almost pressed up against the steering wheel, his arms bent at a sharp angle. I'd have never been able to drive like that. Still, he steers the car expertly even if a little sharply, sending the rest of us flying on top of each other at every turn. He doesn't seem to give a damn.

  "What kind of plane do you have?" I ask.

  No one bothers to reply as both Magna and Diana simultaneously press their fingers to their respective earpieces.

  Ramiro shifts in his seat. Cox mutters into his microphone. Someone has just contacted them - but I can't hear a word of it.

  So I just stare in front of me, thinking about Sarah. I can't feel her at all anymore. I've lost contact with my carrier. Adam must have taken over her, as simple as that.

  "What's up?" I ask out loud the moment Magna and Diana lower their hands. "Can you hear me?" I give Ramiro a nudge in the ribs. "What did they say?"

  Ramiro turns away with a disdainful smirk. Cox replies instead,

  "The gangs are almost at the factory. About a hundred soldiers in total. Now the shit will hit the fan!"

  "Gang soldiers!" Ramiro sniffs. "More like, shitheads with air guns."

  "Look who's talking," I say.

  He swings toward me as if about to sink his teeth into my face. Instead, he forces a crooked smile, then turns away again.

  "Adam can't control such large groups of people," I add. "I think he just paid them to do it."

  "Not that it helps us a lot," Magna says.

  The satnav screen on the dashboard lights up. A gray and green map comes into view, showing two dots moving quickly across the grid one after the other.

  Then a new one appears at the edge of the screen, approaching them fast at a right angle.

  "Sarge is streaming us the data," Cox says. "They're already at Van Wyck. They're moving parallel to us. We have..." he peers at the screen.

  "Two minutes till impact," Diana finishes his sentence for him. "Everyone get ready," she pulls out her gun and listens attentively to the voice in her ear. "The target is in the first car. Also the girl and the driver, three people in total. In the second car, a driver and two security staff. Both drivers are security, as well. They must be armed. Cox, the moment we join the highway, turn immediately so that the side of the car is facing them. Ramiro, you activate the suppressor targeting the first car, then shoot the hell out of the second one."

  "Don't you think the suppressor might affect Sarah and turn her aggressive?" I ask. "It already happened once when you attacked us near the club-"

  "Shut up!" she snaps. "We've changed the frequencies. It'll just knock her out, the same as Vector. Cox, once we join the highway, you should try to slow them down. Any questions?"

  "If any of you kills Sarah, I'll kill you all," I announce.

  Ramiro spits on the floor between his feet.

  Cox grins. I can see his face in the rearview mirror. He's not angry or spiteful at all.

  "Don't sweat it," his voice is as amiable as is possible under the circumstances. "No one's gonna hurt the girl. I promise."

  I concentrate again, trying to reach through to Sarah. She's quite close now... but no. I can't feel anything. Her place within my soul is empty.

  The tiny dot of our Ford on the map keeps closing on the two others. The last buildings are flashing past us, giving way to the Van Wyck Expressway.

  Headlights approach from our left. Ramiro lowers his window, filling the car with gusts of cold wind and the rattling of the tarmac. He has the suppressor in one hand and a large black gun in the other.

  Cox grunts as he throws the car to the right. The Ford's shock absorbers scream their protest as the car almost stands on two wheels. When it finally joins the traffic, a long black limo with tinted windows looms out of the dark to our left.

  "Let's do it!" Ramiro yells.

  He leans out of the window and opens fire with both hands. The gun goes off like a sledge hammer. This must be at least a .45! The Mexican fires aiming at a car traveling a few dozen feet behind the limo.

  The car swerves and begins to slow down.

  Ramiro ducks back inside. Cox throws the car to the left.

  We give the limo a broadside. Our Ford is much lighter than their car but their driver is debilitated by the neural suppressor, unable to steer properly. With a bone-rattling screech, the limo caresses the concrete barrier, leaving cascades of sparks in its wake.

  Cox seems to be screaming. At least I can see his dropped jaw, his eyes wide open in the mirror, even though I can't hear a thing above the powerful screeching of metal against concrete.

  Cox slams on the brakes. The security's Chrysler rams us from behind. With a powerful jolt and more screeching, the limo careens another couple of feet along the barrier, dragging the Ford with it.

  Neither Ramiro nor myself have seatbelts on. The impact throws us forward against the front seats. The engine dies.

  Silence crushes down upon us like a giant's fist. My ears are blocked. My eyes are running. I open and close my mouth trying to gasp a lungful of air.

  Neither Ramiro nor Cox can get out of the car: their doors are pressed against the limo. Magna and Diana rip off their seatbelts and tumble out.

  The Chrysler's doors open too, disgorging two people.

  Diana is the first to roll out of the car; she drops to one knee by the back wheel and lays her hands with the gun onto the trunk, shooting both bodyguards at close range.

  "Let me out, you idiot!" Ramiro yells at me, trying to climb out over my legs. I push him aside and scramble out myself, pulling the Taser out as I go.

  Magna leaps onto the hood of our car, crouches and takes aim at the limo.

  Clutching his gun, the Chrysler's driver moves his seat backwards, leans back, then kicks the already damaged glass hard, shattering it.

  Magna points her own gun at him. They fire simultaneously. Her bullet pins the driver to the back of his seat while his own sends Magna sprawling onto the tarmac.

  I run toward her. Ramiro follows, cussing.

  "Watch out!" Cox yells. Our car wheezes into action as Cox moves it a few feet forward, giving us access to the limo's mangled doors.

  Magna is dead. No one can survive a hole in the head that size. I rip off her mike and earpiece and put them on myself, then jump back into the car. Cox is already trying to scramble out, panting like an overweight hippo.

  "Magna?" Diana stands up gun at the ready, her voice surprisingly cool.

  "She's dead," I snap as I run past her and swing the limo's back door open.

  Another gunshot cla
ps so close that my ears pop again. It misses me by a hair. Behind me, Ramiro rolls over the tarmac, screaming.

  "Don't shoot!" I yell.

  Too late. Diana is already loosing off slugs one after another, aiming at the inside of the limo.

  Finally she stops and tilts the gun up, slapping her hand on the stock to release the glistening clip.

  Behind me, Ramiro is cussing, gasping for air.

  I look into the limo. Its leather interior is ripped to shreds, the bottles in its bar smashed to smithereens, the opposite door deformed. Lots of blood.

  Two bodies.

  He is slumped at the far end of the seat, leaning leisurely back in his bespoke black suit, legs akimbo, head thrown back. His gun is lying on the floor next to him.

  She is snuggling up to him with her legs tucked up. One bullet hit her in the neck, another in the head just under her ear.

  I step back. My Taser hand drops listlessly to my side.

  Ramiro shoves me aside. "Shit!" he wheezes.

  He unbuttons his shirt and rubs his chest under the bulletproof vest. "Who the hell are they? Oh Jesus, I just give up! Diana, come take a look!"

  "I can see," she replies. "They do look like them."

  "Yeah right! It's not them, is it? What's going on, for crissakes? This can't be a mistake, surely!"

  The sound of heavy footsteps makes us turn round. Cox walks over to us, carrying Magna's body, her head bobbing in the air.

  "What now?" he asks.

  Nobody seems to be too upset about the death of a team member as if this woman with her crew cut and military demeanor was a stranger to them.

  A hissing noise assaults my ear. I startle. I completely forgot I'd picked up the headset. Buffalo's voice cuts through the interference,

  "Report! Diana! Report now!"

  I can make out the clapping of gunshots at the other end.

  "The cars have been intercepted. Everybody inside eliminated," Diana's voice echoes in my earpiece. "Magna's dead."

  "Magna... Roger that. No other casualties? What's with Vector?"

  "He wasn't in the car," I butt in.

  "He what?" Buffalo roars. The gunshots now sound closer. "Diana? What's he saying?"

  "Vector wasn't in the car," Diana says. "Neither was the girl. These," she leans and looks into the car, "are just actors."

  "Say that again?" he repeats in disbelief. "Who exactly is it in the car? Are you sure? Can you double-check? Our surveillance-"

  "Fuck surveillance!" she snaps. "We're standing right in front of the flippin' car! There're two stiffs inside, a blond guy and some girl! They sort of look like them, but they're not them at all! Surveillance my ass! Wait till I'm back, I'll give them a piece of my mind! Why did we have to do all this? Magna's dead, why? So we could smoke two useless actors?"

  "I don't think they're actors," Cox points out. "One of them had a gun. If it's his gun, of course."

  Diana falls silent as abruptly as she had begun to scream. Now that she's vented her anger, she waits calmly for a reply, her chest heaving.

  "This is weird," Buffalo says. "I've checked the picture sent by one of the drones. This is... I really... I'm forwarding you the pics, anyway. You'll see for yourselves."

  "Are you all right? What's going on?" I ask.

  Still massaging his chest, Ramiro looks down at Magna's face. Cox is still holding her in his arms showing no sign of fatigue. Ramiro peers at her, shrugs and staggers back to the Ford.

  "Get in," he calls out to us. "The cops will be here in a minute. We need to move it."

  "We're under attack," Buffalo answers my question. "You should leave now. Don't bother about Magna."

  "What do you mean?" Cox asks.

  "Just leave her there. Let the cops try to figure it out. We want you in the airport."

  "We'll come to you," Diana says. "If you're under attack, we'll have to help."

  A brief silence fills the earpiece, replaced by the General's voice,

  "Diana, we need you at the airport. We have new intel. A copter was sighted taking off from Hermetis' roof soon after the cars had left. It was heading west. There're six people aboard. Two of them are presumably Vector and the kidnapped carrier girl."

  "Move it, guys," Buffalo adds. "This is a fast model, it does 300 mph. Some sort of modified Sikorsky Raider with extra fuel tanks."

  "Yeah right," Ramiro mutters from the car.

  Cox lays Magna's body gently onto the ground between the two dead bodyguards, then climbs back into the driver's seat. "We need a new car," he says. "No one will let us into the airport with this one."

  "The Raider hasn't got a big range," Buffalo continues, "but with the extra fuel tanks it can certainly cover half the distance. I think they're planning to refuel on the way. This might give you some leeway."

  "Half the distance to where?" Ramiro asks.

  "To Vegas," I say, getting in the car next to him. Diana follows me and slams the car door shut.

  The General's voice reappears, "Go to the airport now and board our jet. No idea what kind of show Adam plans to put on during the debates but you've got to stop him."

  Sarah

  Cities are like anthills. They're dark muddy spots marring the expanse of sands veined by an intricate web of highways.

  Every time I lean closer to the copter's window to peer out, the sun feels hot on the crown of my head. I can't hear a thing over the rotors' noise. For some reason, I find it soothing.

  I've removed my headphones. I'd rather suffer the noise than listen to Adam's voice or speak back to him. The cocoon of silence feels safe.

  The precious last minutes of tranquility are elapsing quickly, so I'm trying to savor each of them. We're already approaching the Nevada desert.

  In moments like these, I can afford to be myself.

  The copter is huge. We've been flying for like an eternity. Only once did we stop to refuel at some base in the middle of nowhere, then we were back in the air again.

  Apart from Adam and myself, there're six more people aboard - all duals - as well as someone I can't see. I can sense them. Not a person: an entity. Their power is different. It's warped, perverted even. And strong! Its presence sends shivers down my spine. I've never sensed anything like it before.

  Adam is in a hurry. I can feel his anxiety reaching me like the vibrations of a taut string. Right now he's texting someone with a faint smile on his face, as if he's just received some good news.

  He turns to me. His lips are moving. I can't hear anything. Which is excellent.

  He doesn't think so, apparently. Frowning, he reaches for my hand.

  Not that, not now! I shrink away from his touch.

  Too late. His thoughts flood me; his past and his present fill my mind as Adam's identity crushes me, collapsing like a dark tower on my head.

  Once again I can hear the voices of long-dead people. I feel angry about the mistakes I - he - once made. A sweet shudder of anticipation runs through my body. Something's coming, very soon...

  Then I drop, falling into a hot, dusty vision.

  The dust is red. It fills my ears, nose and mouth; it feels scratchy under my eyelids; it crumbles under my fingers. I'm trying to climb out, struggling for a breath of air, but I'm being sucked back down until I...

  Until I lie sprawled on the hot tarmac.

  The gutted, skeletal towers of Manhattan loom over me grinning their broken windows, their breached walls about to collapse. Their summits pierce the perfectly cloudless sky.

  The silence is so absolute it suffocates you as if it's sucked the air out of the city. I struggle to breathe in the rarefied air.

  I scramble to my feet and brush off my rubberized pants. I'm wearing a pair of thick, well-worn gloves. What's with the outfit? Where am I?

  This is New York's skyline. No mistake there. What happened? Why is it empty and gutted?

  The streets are buried under heaps of sand and garbage. Cars are abandoned, some of them deformed beyond recognition.

&n
bsp; There's someone next to me. I can sense their presence. It sends shivers down my spine.

  I swing round.

  A tall man in a rubber coat over his coveralls is standing in the middle of the road. A hood covers his head; a gray mask conceals his face. His eyes glisten behind the narrow eyeslits.

  He points a finger at me.

  Put the headphones on now!

  The voice echoes through my head. I open my eyes.

  Adam is leaning toward me, his handsome face distorted with fury. He glares at me, as if about to strangle me the way he strangled Tory.

  I hurry to put on the headphones.

  Adam nods his satisfaction. "Don't you dare read my mind," he says in the microphone. "That's none of your business."

  His words weaken our bond somewhat. They actually work like the gulp of air I so desperately needed. He hasn't even realized he's just given me a tiny foothold. With any luck, I might escape now.

  I lock my shaking fingers in my lap and keep staring out the window, trying to keep my mind off what I've just seen.

  That was the future of Adam Vector. The future he's about to impose on all of us.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chris

  A SUDDEN VISION disturbs my sleep, looming out of the dark. City towers, empty and crumbling, their gaping skeletons piercing the sky like dull, fire-polished teeth.

  A deserted city lies in ruins. A street is crowded with abandoned cars. A man is standing in the middle of it, wearing a hooded rubber coat over his coveralls and a pair of high boots wound with leather straps. A leather mask with narrow eyeslits conceals his face.

  The city is a dull gray and yellow. Crimson shadows lurk in the doorways and back alleys. The man's coat skirts fluttering in the wind is the only movement.

  Then something stirs, shifting aside. A dark alley fills with activity, unleashing a crowd of people.

  Not a crowd: a pack. A pack of humanoid creatures who only bear a fleeting resemblance to human beings. They're dressed in filthy rags, some almost naked. Almost all of them are men, bearded and disheveled. I can only see a couple of women - or should I say females?