The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  "Get on stage!" Cox growls to me as he throws the black guy against the bathroom door, then barges in after him as they continue to pound each other. A series of crashing, crunching and ringing noises come from the bathroom.

  I rush toward Diana and retrieve her gun. She's still convulsing.

  "The door," she gasps. "Sybil told me the stage entrance is somewhere here. Go... Vector is probably there already..."

  I swing the door open and run out into the corridor.

  "Shoot him," Diana croaks behind me.

  A loud smashing noise comes from the bathroom. Apparently, one of the two has just used the other's head to break the washbasin.

  Diana is right. I soon find a narrow side corridor leading backstage. I slow down to rearrange my clothes and smooth down my hair. I slip both the Taser and the gun in my belt under the jacket and step into the dark of the wings.

  I have to stop Vector. He's here somewhere holding Sarah prisoner, about to do what he planned to do all along. What will happen to us? The destroyed cities, the prowling packs of warpers, the weird bionic machines hovering in the yellow sky? What kind of Apocalypse is that? What awaits us - a new world ruled by a superhuman dictator?

  And what's going to happen to Sarah if Vector uses her as a battery and a conductor of his own sick force? This might scorch her brain leaving her with but a handful of ashes inside her skull...

  A security guard is kicking his heels about halfway through the passage. Looking surprised, he raises his hand to his earpiece. Before he can say anything, I lunge at him, press my Taser to his stomach and zap him.

  This time there's no voltaic arc in sight. The crackling sounds are much softer, too. The man's body works as a silencer, absorbing the electric charge. He collapses to the floor.

  As I jog toward the stage, I check the Taser. It's blinking red: discharged. I hurl it into the wings.

  Finally, the stage. The speaker's voice sounds familiar. I've definitely heard it before. That's right. Andy Hill couldn't host the show so they must have replaced him with somebody else - someone I must have seen on TV.

  I can also hear the creaking of seats, the shuffling of the audience's feet, their suppressed coughing and whispered conversations.

  Suddenly I sense Sarah. She's here.

  So is Vector.

  I hear something behind me. I glance over my shoulder and freeze. The pigtailed blonde is walking down the passage. Her chin is unnaturally lopsided, her mouth a shapeless red spot. She staggers toward me like a broken doll, brushing the wall with one hand. Her other arm is stretched out, its splayed fingers twitching like a spider's legs. Her face is touched by madness.

  Something is starting to happen. The ceiling lights crackle in her wake, glowing brighter and dissipating waves of light.

  A thin black strip appears along the wall where she touches it, then another.

  The wall begins to blister. I can smell something burning.

  Then I realize. These are the electric cables in the wall burning.

  What kind of force is that? Is it something like Diana's carrier used to have? The one who refused to torture people with electricity?

  Judging by the girl's face, she's capable of anything. And still I can't shoot her without attracting attention. Vector is mere feet away from me. No, I can't risk that.

  Also, I've no idea how many rounds are left in Diana's gun.

  The girl keeps following me. Then she seems to brush accidentally against another cable. The lights go out. All the lights.

  The audience grumbles its discontent. Someone cusses.

  I turn my back to the girl and hurry on. All I need is one shot. A lucky one.

  Sarah

  The lights go out, leaving me in the pitch darkness.

  Then gradually, weak emergency lighting starts to kick in under the ceiling. After the powerful beams which were trained on my face, these lights are almost non-existent.

  The security are mumbling into their headsets as they begin to evacuate the audience. A mild panic sets in. Forgetting their posh manners, well-dressed people elbow their way through the jammed doorways.

  Four security guards are taking Chloe Walker away. The presenter is nowhere to be seen. I think he's blending in with the fleeing crowd.

  Adam and I are now alone on the stage. He's still standing on his podium staring at the cameras as if willing them to work. His pursed lips are white.

  So much for his plan!

  Still, he's not going to give up so easily. I can sense his attempts to penetrate the security guards' minds, submitting them to his will. He prepares to defend himself.

  Still, what was that? I look around the room searching for any signs of abnormal activity. Could it be the Agency? Or Chris even? Or maybe just another crazy suicide bomber who thinks duals are demons?

  The crowd is still raging by the doors while security is trying to bring some kind of order about. As if! They force their way out blindly like a stampede.

  A crackling sound of electricity is coming from the wings. I turn round and peer into the darkness but all I can see is the rushing of shadows in the passage leading from the dressing rooms.

  The crackling repeats. There seems to be an electrical problem. A cold bluish light appears in the passage, growing brighter and highlighting the familiar silhouettes.

  The light is produced by a ball which seems to be woven of electricity. The ball is hovering between the hands of the pigtailed blonde. What did Adam call her, Firefly? Her jaw is twisted at an unnatural angle. She's standing with one leg strangely twisted around. It looks like she's been badly beaten up.

  The other person stands motionless in front of her with his back to me.

  Chris.

  Even in this failing light I can recognize him. He stands half-crouching with his legs akimbo, ready to spring aside, with a gun trained on her. Why isn't he shooting? What's he waiting for?

  The ball between the girls' hands swells with a bright light. She's going to scorch him alive in a moment!

  Adam isn't looking. He's speaking into his headset, pressing a finger to one ear to better hear the voice in his earpiece.

  Heaven barges onto the stage, kicking a camera stand out of her way. A cameraman tries to stop her - I think he does or maybe he just happens to be in her way. In any case, she grabs him and snaps his neck in one practiced motion. Then she continues toward the wings, about to lunge at Chris who's busy watching Firefly.

  She's going to wring his neck too!

  I force myself to move. I need to run and warn him. But I can't.

  Heaven is already upon him. I struggle to focus, trying to blank out Adam's commands in my head. So many of them!

  Straining every neuron in my brain, I wriggle myself free from his mental grasp. An agonizing pain blinds me. Still, I take in a lungful of air and shout,

  "Heaven, freeze! Chris, behind you!"

  He swings round and knocks Heaven off her feet. Without waiting for her to collapse, he grabs her by the shoulders and hurls her onto Firefly who lets go of her fireball.

  It hits Heaven at point blank. Blue charges of electricity surge through the two girls' bodies. Chris springs toward them and knocks Heaven out with the object he's holding in his hands.

  Darkness descends on me. I can't see a thing now.

  Adam turns to us, peering into the dark which feels even blacker now after the flash.

  "Follow me," he snaps.

  My muscles tense. My body wants to obey but I forbid it to move. Now that Chris is so close, I find it easier to resist. But part of my mind is still being drawn to Adam which creates a tenuous balance. I'm about to split apart...

  Chris steps out of the darkness into the weak emergency lights. He raises his gun and aims at Adam's chest.

  Shoot! I mentally command.

  The gun quivers in his hand.

  He misses. The bullet hits the dais next to Adam.

  In my mind, I can clearly see what blinded him. It's a memory, a glimpse of the p
ast. A dark, frozen glare from behind a mask's eyeslits.

  That's Adam. That's the man who shot Chris' mother. It was Adam Vector.

  A tidal wave of fury floods Chris' mind.

  At that moment, Adam strikes back.

  His silent attack arches Chris' body backwards. His command echoes all around the room. The few people who haven't yet fled - the security and some of the audience - drop to the floor unconscious.

  Gasping for air, I double over in pain. My forehead erupts in sweat. My temples are pounding.

  Chris is lying motionless on the floor. Adam grabs my elbow and drags me away. I dig in my heels, trying to resist him, all the while sensing his fury, his frustration about his perfectly laid-out plans going so badly wrong.

  And below those two emotions, a sticky layer of fear: the fear for his own life as well as the plan which took him decades to conceive.

  The fear of failure.

  The desperation.

  The man is pure spite, selfishness and disdain. He doesn't give a damn about his minions defending him right now.

  They're everywhere. They're scattered all over the country, sleepers undercover, awaiting their hour.

  They're so many. I can see them clearly now. My head goes round with the realization of the sheer scope of Adam's activities.

  He manages to drag me to the edge of the stage, then lets go of my hand, furious. A gun appears in his other hand.

  "If you don't go yourself, I'll kill him," he says through clenched teeth, pointing the gun at Chris' head.

  I have no doubt he'll do that. He won't stop at anything. A dual's life means nothing to him. I can see it clearly now.

  He can kill each and every one of us if he has to. He's been using us all along.

  Suddenly I know what I have to do. I relax, going with the flow and allowing Adam's mental force to draw me into his mind. I drop deeper and deeper, sucked into the quagmire of his fears and his past, until I locate and resurface everything he's been trying to forget.

  The faces of his victims whom he killed or betrayed, or simply trampled over in his quest for power. Those dead a long time, I bring them back to life.

  Adam's father, mumbling unintelligibly, his muddied street shoes dangerously close to my face. Vicky's ethereal outline as she curves her dead lips, looking at Adam with cold disdain. A thin dark line left by a wire crosses her neck. More girls, all with identical wire marks on their necks. A man left in the desert with a gutful of sand.

  They're so many! Indeed Adam Vector left a bloodied trail in his wake wherever he went.

  Now he's towering over me, turning slowly. His face is pale. His lips are shaking. He's staring at the ghosts surrounding him as they keep coming until the stage is completely packed with them.

  "What do you want? No!" Adam tries to brush away their hands which are reaching out for him.

  A gunshot thunders. It's followed by two more at a closer range. I drop to the floor and watch, transfixed.

  Three crimson spots appear on the chest of Adam's shirt. The fourth shot throws him off the stage onto the presenter's glass desk below, shattering it.

  Silence falls - not in the room but in my own head.

  The ghosts are gone. I can't hear their voices anymore. I'm alone in my head now.

  I turn my head to the person who fired the gun. He's standing next to the stage exit, dressed in a security uniform. The man lowers his gun and nods to me.

  I think I've seen him before.

  Of course. It's Buffalo. I didn't recognize him without his usual stubble.

  I push myself off the floor, forcing myself to my feet. Where's Chris?

  My eyes search the stage. Over there. He's alive, thank God. He's lying on the floor clenching his head and moaning hoarsely.

  I kneel next to him and lay my hand onto his stubbly cheek. He opens his eyes.

  "Why are you crying?" he croaks.

  I blink. He's right. My cheeks are all wet. "Forget it," I hurry to wipe the tears away. "Are you okay?"

  Groaning, he manages to sit up, then looks at me anxiously. "I'm fine. You? Did he... How's your head, okay?"

  "Sure. He couldn't do anything."

  I'm about to add how happy I am that he came back for me.

  I want to lower my face and touch his lips...

  A hand grabs my shoulder. It's Buffalo. Gun at the ready, he looks around himself. "We need to go. Come on, quick."

  I scramble back to my feet and help Chris to get up too. At first it doesn't work. He staggers like a drunk, unable to keep his balance.

  Two more guardian agents climb the stage and hurry toward him. They move me aside and drape Chris' arms around their shoulders.

  Then we run, all of us, along the familiar stage entrance toward the dressing rooms, with Buffalo in front, me following him and the two guardians dragging Chris behind me.

  I have to walk around the bodies of Heaven and Firefly, then very nearly stumble over the corpse of a security guard lying across the passage.

  I can still feel Adam following me. He's still around, his cold, sticky shadow lurking behind our backs.

  Am I supposed to feel like this for the rest of my life? I'll go mad!

  Two more security guards block our way by the dressing room. Before Buffalo can raise his gun again, I command them to sleep.

  Both drop to the floor, alive. I've had enough dead bodies for one day. I don't want to spill any more blood.

  We hurry downstairs to the parking lot. Chris can barely walk. I too feel terribly weak now. Reaching into Adam's mind must have cost me a lot. I stagger and stumble on the stairs; I expect myself to trip over my feet at any moment and tumble downstairs head first.

  I brace myself, expecting the shooting to resume any moment now. Downstairs must be absolutely packed with people.

  Surprisingly, the parking is empty.

  A few armed security guards are patrolling the exit. One of them notices Buffalo and makes a sign to someone behind our backs. The parking lot echoes with the roaring of engines as two black SUVs with tinted windows pull up next to us.

  "The audience are evacuated via the central entrance," Buffalo explains, seeing my incomprehension. "We only found a few duals here. Vector kept this area free for his own retreat."

  I can't see any of the duals he mentioned. Apparently, they've already been taken care of.

  The men load Chris into the car. I'm about to climb in after him but Buffalo grabs my shoulder and points at the open door of the other SUV. "Quick! We don't have much time!"

  I dive inside. Buffalo gets into the driver's seat, slams the door behind him and pulls away. He follows the other SUV up the ramp, out of the brightly-lit parking zone and into the dark night.

  I lean forward, meaning to ask Buffalo where he's going.

  Too late. I glimpse a movement behind my back.

  I swing round. A sharp pain pierces my head and spine as something sinks into my neck.

  My vision blurs. I collapse onto the seat sideways.

  I can barely see Buffalo. He's leaning back watching me, then nods to someone behind me.

  I want to scream and command them to let me go but my tongue turns leaden. I can't speak nor move. My vision fails, too.

  The inside of the car begins to swirl around me. Then it disappears.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chris

  THIS ISN'T a prison cell. More like a hotel suite. Two well-furnished rooms, a bathroom, a full fridge and even an electric hotplate.

  No windows. The door is locked. No idea how I got here. I can't remember anything.

  I've been pacing this room for the last several hours. I'm more than sure this is some underground installation which goes deeper than even the factory cellars. Still, I can't check.

  I study my freshly-bandaged injuries. The cut on the palm of my hand isn't fully healed yet. Neither is the wound on my forehead.

  As I make myself a coffee, I replay the events of the previous night in my head. We flew to Vegas.
.. arrived at the underground parking lot... fought Trace and Job on the stairs... then there was that electricity-controlling pigtailed blonde in the dressing room... how she made electric cables burn within the walls... I went on stage and saw Adam Vector, and then...

  I saw Sarah.

  I remember her face leaning over me. Was I saying something to her? I can't remember. I wasn't fully conscious. Someone helped me to my feet and led me downstairs... a car engine revving... it seemed to have been a very long drive. They shone a light in my eyes, then took my pulse and blood pressure. Then they injected me with something... why? I think they were trying to wake me up.

  Now I’m here, my head heavy, my temples throbbing.

  The strong coffee seems to have revived me somewhat. I take a shower and put on some clothes I've discovered in the wardrobe. Just as I button up the shirt, the door opens.

  The General enters the room, followed by my father, Buffalo and a limping Cox who's sporting a large purple bruise on his cheekbone.

  Buffalo and Cox stand at both sides of the doorway. Cox closes the door, then leans wearily against the wall and closes his eyes. Buffalo stands motionless, the biceps of his crossed arms bulging under his short sleeves. The buffalo tattoo on his forearm looks especially menacing.

  I step toward the General. "Where's Sarah?"

  "She's all right," father replies. "She'll live."

  "In that case, why isn't she with you?"

  Father makes a helpless gesture.

  "We need to talk first," the General replies instead.

  "We are talking, aren't we? Why, what's wrong?"

  I'm about to explode. I'm dangerously close to trashing this room: the only thing that stops me is the Taser handle peeking out of Buffalo's holster.

  I force myself to calm down. I lace my fingers, clenching them, and lower my hands like someone handcuffed. That's better. I need to get a grip. Literally.

  "That's about something Diana told us," the General shrugs. "She said you had a vision or something. Apparently, Sarah channeled it to you."

  "She didn't. I sort of tuned into it. It was on the plane. I fell asleep and saw these things..."