The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  Most of the creatures are armed with sticks and lumps of steel. They move along the street, zigzagging between cars from one destroyed building to the next.

  Their body language is weird. It's not human. The way they walk, their gestures, the way they turn their heads to cast watchful glances around them... They don't speak: they exchange unintelligible hissing sounds.

  There's something beastly about them. Alien even. This is how birds - or spiders, even - would have moved had they been capable of walking upright.

  The creatures tilt their heads to the sky, peering at something. Emitting alarmed cackling noises, they hurry to take cover in one of the destroyed houses.

  A shadow covers the street, fleeting over the cars and the lush greenery which fills the gaps.

  The man in the rubber coat and leather mask stands motionless in the middle of the road as the shadow moves over him.

  An aircraft which resembles an electric ray moves deftly amid the towers' collapsed tops. I'm not even sure it is an aircraft: it looks more like some bionic monster soaring on the air currents. Its edges quiver, its tail trailing behind it, forking into several thin strips.

  Slowly the masked man raises his head...

  Then the vision is gone.

  I startle and open my eyes, still sensing the dead world, yellow and gray, around me.

  I can sense her. She's too far from me, so far I can't even imagine. All I know is that she's scared and desperate.

  "Sarah!" I mumble, sitting up in my seat.

  Too late. She's gone. Could it be my imagination? I don't think so. She was the source of the vision; it reached me like some echo of the complex maze of her mind.

  In the aircraft's window, the bright, cold blue sky domes over the clouds.

  It took us some time before we could take off. First we had to find a new car and get to the airport along the deserted night streets perturbed by the wailing of police alarms. Then we had to wait because there was some electronic problem on board. A whole motherboard was burned out, even though our jet had been safely locked away in its hangar.

  The plane is small and awash with light. There're only a few seats inside, complete with comfortable little tables. Opposite me, Diana is nursing a bottle of Coke. Ramiro is nodding off in the seat behind hers. Behind my back, Cox is snoring away.

  I rub my neck and sit up. As I do so, three photos slide off my lap. I pick them up and look at them again. Buffalo sent them to Diana's phone on our way to the airport. She printed them out as soon as we boarded.

  The pictures show six people walking in pairs from the parking lot entrance of the Hermetis building toward the two cars: the limo and the Chrysler. I recognize the four men walking in front and at the back as the two cars' drivers and the "bodyguards" whom we left lying on the road next to the dead Magna.

  The pair walking between them can be seen very clearly. An elegant blond guy in a bespoke cashmere coat and a petite girl who actually looks taller in her heels. One of the pictures isn't clear enough to see their faces. The other two are.

  These are definitely Adam and Sarah.

  Then again, not really.

  What a strange illusion. Their faces - and only their faces - are sort of blurred as if the camera was shaking. At a fleeting glance, one doesn't even notice anything but if you take a closer look, all you can see is two vague pale spots in place of their faces. The faces of the bodyguards, however, are perfectly in focus which means that the optical illusion only affected Chris and Sarah.

  Who did that? No idea. According to Diana, there are no known duals possessing these kinds of abilities.

  I fling the pictures onto the table next to the already-cold coffee cup and the Taser and turn to the other two,

  "How much longer is this flight?"

  Ramiro snorts in his sleep and turns to the window. Diana casts a sideways look at me, then shrugs and waves her hand uncertainly.

  I press my face to the window, peering at the gap in the clouds far ahead. Below it lies Las Vegas. We're almost there.

  "His name was Allen," Diana says unexpectedly, staring at the Coke bottle she's cradling in her hand.

  "Excuse me?" I say.

  "My carrier. His name was Allen. You seemed to be so intent on forcing the subject on me. He was killed. Not that it's any of your business."

  I pause, waiting for her to continue but she remains silent.

  "It's not," I finally agree.

  "Well, if you wanted to hurt me, you didn't. Allen was the biggest piece of shit that ever walked this earth. He could, how did they call it," she snaps her fingers, trying to remember, causing Ramiro to snort again in his sleep, "he could control electric conductivity in living beings. Simply put, he could give people electric shocks of various strength. He could kill them or just hurt them a little. Or torture them. I was a stupid girl then. He talked me into doing street robberies with him. He used me. Ask Ramiro: his old carrier did the same to him. He was a drug addict, a real lowlife. So," Diana removes her feet from the table, sets the Coke down and focuses her heavy gaze on me, "it's not always fun and games between dual partners. For some of us, getting rid of our carrier was the best thing that ever happened to us."

  "Allen... did you kill him?" I ask.

  Her pupils dilate. She appears scared. "Did I what? Are you nuts? Your dual is part of you! You can't kill them! I wasn't too unhappy back then. He was the one telling me what to do. I didn’t mind, really. I was a bit disenchanted but that was the extent of it. I only realized what a bastard he was after the Agency got rid of him. They liberated me. I wasn't sorry for him, no. At first it felt as if half my heart had been ripped out of my chest. But even then I didn't feel sorry for him."

  So that's what some of them felt, apparently. A complex mixture of loss and freedom.

  "So you don't have to try to push your agenda on us," she adds. "A lot of us could tell you similar stories. You won't find any support for your ideas here."

  "All right, but is this normal?" I ask. "Both you and Ramiro seem to be unfortunate exceptions rather than the rule. I've seen a lot of dual pairs back in Hermetis. Most of them are very close. Even weirdoes like Greene and Heaven. They seem to be really attached to each other."

  She turns away without saying anything.

  Still, I insist, "Duals can't do any good, is that what you're trying to say? You think they're all bad?"

  She looks away, then adds unwillingly, "Mother Theresa."

  "Pardon me?"

  "You've heard of Mother Theresa, surely?" she snaps. "The Nobel-winning Catholic nun? Well, she was a carrier. Her guardian died. She didn't go downhill as most carriers do in this case. Her monastic order became a home for many duals."

  I nod, "So you see! We don't have to be evil. We can use our powers to do good things. We can be neutral or even useful. Why are you trying to get rid of all the others?"

  Finally she turns away from the window and says, staring in front of herself, "Because power is dangerous. It can corrupt one's soul."

  "Is that what the General tells you? Because it sure sounds like something he would say."

  She nods calmly, unembarrassed, "That's right. Why? He has a point. All duals ended up abusing their powers. All the good they could potentially do doesn't measure up to the evil they ended up doing. Adam Vector is a fine example."

  I'm about to reply when the pilot's voice sounds in the loudspeakers,

  "They've given us permission to land at McCarran. Twenty minutes till touch-down."

  I get up and head for the bathroom. On my way back I shake Cox awake. We don't have any weapons on us, so I pick up the Taser and slide it under my belt.

  The moment I return to my seat, the pilot's voice sounds again,

  "We've got an incoming call. I'm switching it over to you."

  "Who the hell is that?" Cox mumbled behind me, then emits a truly leonine yawn.

  Ramiro too jumps awake. The TV screen overhanging the aisle hisses into life. There's no picture, though.
All I can hear is a familiar voice,

  "Do you read me? Hey! Who's there?"

  This is father, speaking in faltering, gasped phrases.

  "We can hear you!" I reply loud and clear before anyone else can. "Where are you?"

  "Chris?" his voice strains, rising. "Is that you? Thank God!"

  "Yes, Sir," Diana replies. "You're speaking to your son, Ramiro, Cox and myself. Where are you?"

  "We're next to the Minnesota Exclusion Zone. We had to do some field tests here. Now we're on our way back. We had a bad encounter with some of the warpers. They chased us and killed two of my men. The guide and myself survived. He's gone to get the car. I've been trying to contact everyone I could think of but the base doesn't answer. It's a good job I remembered about this plane! What happened?"

  His voice almost disappears, consumed by the interference, then drifts back into focus. "What happened?" he shouts. "What's going on at the base?"

  "The base is under attack," Diana replies. "It must have been evacuated."

  "What the- Okay, I see. Is that our friend Adam again?"

  "We think so," I strain my voice, staring at the glimmering screen. "Or someone he hired."

  "The radio reported public unrest in New York," father says. "Apparently there've been some underground explosions in the area of Brownsville. Lots of people arrested, they say."

  "Exactly. Which is why-" Diana begins.

  "Yes, I understand! That's why the General made the decision to evacuate the base, is that correct? He must have activated the emergency destruction system to make sure the base wasn't compromised."

  Diana nods. "He evacuated the staff via the factory supply lines. But it's possible that Adam knew about them and attempted to sabotage them. We know just as much as you do!"

  "Where are you going, then?"

  "To fucking Vegas!" Ramiro spits out. Neither he nor Diana seem to like the situation. Both hate the fact that they weren't at the base when they were needed the most.

  "To Vegas. But of course," father promptly puts two and two together. "The debates!"

  "That's right," Diana confirms. "That was the General's order. Adam is probably there already. He's definitely up to something."

  "Wish we knew what it was," Ramiro butts in again. "What's the point of us going there if we don't even know what he's gonna do?"

  "We do know he has the altered serum," I point out. "He also has Sarah with him. Why?"

  "He might use her as a battery," father suggests. "Just as an extra source of power."

  I shudder with the thought. Actually, I'd already thought about something in the same vein. "She is a carrier, isn't she? And so is Adam. How can she-"

  "You can never be a hundred percent sure with him. I told you already. Something happened at a certain point in his life which caused him to rejuvenate not once but twice at least. No idea how he did it. But it must have something to do with what we've just found out. We-"

  His voice disappears in a growing wave of interference and crackling noises. Finally it comes back, "Do you read me?"

  "Affirmative," Diana says. "Go on."

  "Ten minutes till touch-down," the pilot reports.

  "Are you landing already?" father asks. "I want you to listen to me. It's very important in order to understand what's going on in Minnesota. The human brain has three major parts. One is called the reptilian brain, the oldest and least aware system controlling basic instincts like survival or propagation. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Reptilians are the most basic of creatures that follow simple patterns of reacting to certain stimuli. Food, danger, sex... fight or flight, eat, propagate... all of which is rooted deep within us-"

  Once again his voice disappears in a surge of interference, then resurfaces, "...the limbic brain which is located around it is intrinsic to all birds and mammals and responsible for our emotions such as anger or parental love. Finally, the youngest and the most complex part of our brain is called the neocortex. This is what makes us truly human. The neocortex perceives, analyses and rationalizes; it's also responsible for our speech. The three parts are very easy to tell from each other due to their different structure and chemical composition. But here in Minnesota we've come across something truly-"

  He pauses. We can hear the far-off sound of a car engine. The hissing and crackling of the interference grows again, then subsides.

  Father's voice resurfaces, "That was my guide bringing the car back. We need to go now before the zone patrols discover us-"

  "So what did you want to tell us?" I interrupt him.

  The floor underfoot shifts as the plane lurches forward, preparing to land. It rips through the quilt-like mass of clouds which parts, revealing tiny houses and a snaking maze of roads below.

  "I'll tell you in a moment. The zone is crawling with creatures I called the warpers. You could also call them lizard people, I suppose."

  "Lizard people," Ramiro repeats. "What the hell is that?"

  "They're local residents whose neocortex has been destroyed by the blast. I tend to believe that Vector was behind the Lake Superior nuclear power plant accident. He needed as many test subjects as he could get. The cortex of most local residents seems to be scorched by a powerful directed attack. For that reason, their bodies are controlled by their reptilian and limbic brains. It's a bit like trying to plug a car into a high-voltage cable. Most of its systems will be unharmed. You can even drive it because its engine and all the mechanical parts will still function. But all its finer electronic points will be scorched beyond repair. That's what happened to the people here. Not all of them but... quite a few have turned into the most primitive of living beings."

  "Like, two-legged lizards?" Diana's voice is full of doubt. "Or walking birds?"

  "Not literally. You understand that, don't you? It's only their minds that have changed. They're not capable of any intellectual activity. They're driven by their instincts, aggression and fear. What's even worse, it's irreversible. Can you grasp the entire significance of it?"

  "And now Vector wants this epidemic to spread..." I say.

  "It's not an epidemic. They're not movie zombies. You won't turn into one of them if they bite you. Not that it changes much. Vector wants to stage a new experiment to test the limits of his powers. Problem is, you can't just close your eyes and will everyone around you to turn into hungry lizards. No one can do that, no matter how powerful. In order to pull off something like that, Vector needs to position himself at the epicenter of a large human mental field. He has to become the center of attention of a million-strong crowd. All eyes should be on him. That's what he needs the debates for. He has the serum to augment his influence. He also has this girl, Sarah, as a spare battery. He can use her to-"

  "To jump-start his own engine, so to speak," I interrupt him.

  The airport is already in full view. We're coasting down toward its buildings. The airplane starts to shake. All of us grab onto our seats' armrests.

  "But what does that give him? What does he want to achieve?"

  "How about chaos?" father offers, his voice barely audible over the white noise. "Paralyzing the entire country's social infrastructure? And then presenting himself as a savior, claiming ultimate power in a dysfunctional society?"

  For a split second, his voice thunders loud and clear, then it's gone altogether with the hiss of interference. The screen goes blank.

  "Prepare for touchdown!" the pilot's voice announces.

  After a few seconds, the undercarriage struck the tarmac. I completely forgot to buckle up, so now I find myself digging my heels in the floor, clenching the armrests.

  The fuselage shakes. Airport buildings flash past the window.

  Finally, our speed begins to decrease. The jet rolls out onto the taxiing park and begins to rotate toward the terminal. The engine noise is not as intense now.

  Diana uses the opportunity to announce,

  "We're going straight to the debates now Don't even ask me how we're going to stop that man
iac but it's probably easier just to take him out. Ditto for everyone who tries to stop us."

  "I don't give a shit," Ramiro butts in. "I can give them all a free ride to hell!"

  I swing round and glare at him. "Not with Sarah you don't. Leave her out of this. I'm serious."

  Sarah

  We climb out of the copter. It resembles a black shark on the outside.

  The cold wind very nearly knocks me over. I grab at the skirts of my coat, trying to keep them and my hair in place, but it doesn't do me much good: my coat flaps in the wind, swaddling me; my hair flies into my face.

  Adam jumps out; he takes me by the hand and draws me away across a wet manicured lawn.

  We've landed on the football pitch of the Thomas&Mack Center. Don't ask me how Adam managed to get permission. Between his powers and his connections, he's capable of anything. The debates are to be held at the University of Nevada at nine p.m. between Presidential candidates Ben McAllister and Chloe Walker.

  Two black SUVs are waiting for us by the edge of the pitch. We run toward them, ducking from the still-churning rotors' downdraught.

  Trace slams the car door shut behind me, locking me in its dark, stuffy leather interior. The car pulls off, joining the column of identical SUVs which stretches all the way to the underground parking lot. Half of the country's movers and shakers seem to be here tonight.

  The road circles the arena, whisking us away past the open-air parking lots and a two-story building. The place is crawling with security who look a bit like penguins in their white dress shirts showing under their unbuttoned black suit jackets.

  Finally, our car too descends down the ramp. Security check our IDs, then point us to our place at the far end of the concrete tunnel. Our driver parks up and kills the engine.

  "Wait in the car," Adam says. "Don't go anywhere."

  The moment he leaves the car and disappears out of sight, I decide to try the door. I lift my hand, attempting to reach the polished handle. Still, something seems to be blocking my movements; my fingers appear to hit an invisible obstacle.

  No way! There's no way I can't do it! I must!