It’s not really a body anymore, is it?
— the remains of the Secretary, what was left of him slumped against the wall, a dark red stain soaking into the wool of the carpet underneath him.
“Everyone ready?” Julian felt the smile stretched over his face, teeth barred, a mask pushed on. He turned back to the door, twisting the handle. It opened with a soft click, the bottom edge whispering over the carpet as he pulled it open.
The man who walked in was dressed in an immaculate suit, a red pocket square standing out against the black of the material. He paused in the doorway, looking over to the body against the wall, then looked back at Julian. “Good. You have given me their fear.”
“Yes, Master.” Julian swallowed. It still feels weird saying that.
“Weird?” The master looked at him, a small smile tugging at his face. “You’ll learn to like it soon enough.”
The man turned to the table, opening his arms to the board. “Gentlemen. It’s come to my attention that new leadership is needed.”
“Are you…” said one man. Julian’s overlay identified him as Mercel Strider, head of Marketing and Analytics. “Are you… responsible for this?”
“For what?” The master leaned forward from the waist, the movement almost imperceptible. “Oh. I see. You want to know if I’m behind the death of your… previous master.”
“He was just the Secretary.” Strider frowned.
“As I said.” The master frowned. “As it happens, I think you’re responsible. You were given a choice, were you not?”
“Of course not,” said Strider. “This thug came in here and—”
“I know,” said the master. “I was outside.”
“You were outside?”
“Yes. I was outside. I commanded him to do it.” The master looked down at his hand, inspecting his fingernails. “So, you see… I know you had a choice. You had to pick one. Your choice, your consequence.”
“There wasn’t another choice!” Strider stood up, his chair sliding back.
The master turned to Julian. “You know this man?”
“I know of him.” Julian shrugged. “Different division.”
“Division.” The master turned the word over in his mouth. “You have such strange constructs here. How did this man come to be… the master of his team?”
“Like most of them, master. He bought, killed, bribed, or blackmailed his way to the top.”
“That’s a lie,” said Strider. “All of us here are leads in our fields.”
The master smiled again, but all humor was gone from his face. “Mercel Strider, you must never lie to me.”
“I’m not lying… Wait. How do you know my name?” Strider looked across at the body against the wall, then at Julian. “We have strict policy against divulging information about the board to outside parties, Mr. Oldham. You realize this will go against your account.”
Julian looked at Strider, then at the body of the Secretary. He laughed. “If it makes you feel better, you can put it against my account. Quite a balance growing there I expect.” Julian looked over at the master. “I’d really check with him first though.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Strider smiled, the expression broad. “This situation ends now.”
Julian had known they were coming, of course. His overlay had been tracking security’s path through the building, knew when the team reached the room. As Strider finished speaking, the door slammed open, the expensive hinges tearing away, and a crew dressed in black swarmed through the opening.
He felt overtime slip in over him, the light bleaching from the room, and he stepped over to stand between the master and the strike team —
Who’d stopped moving.
Julian turned to his master, who was still looking at Strider. He heard him speak, the words stretched and slow through the overtime. “Mercel Strider, you should be asking yourself how I came to be here, in your sanctum, the heart of your world. I carry no weapon. Your agent has gone against your wishes and his own to achieve my ends. And yet you try and send your paper soldiers against me.”
Julian could see the eyes of one of the strike team, only a few paces distance from him. Sweat was beading on the man’s forehead, and Julian could see the man’s hand shaking with strain, the movement slow and large through the overtime.
“Your approach is all wrong, Mercel Strider. You’ve been seeking to dominate and control through your old mechanisms. You lie. You steal. You have no respect.” The master turned to spare a glance at the strike team, taking them in. “You sent five men and one woman. Six people stand against me, and not one of them has used their weapon. Have you thought to ask why that is?”
Strider looked at the strike team. “Shoot him!”
One of the team — Julian picked a man out at the back, guarding the door — let out a groan, falling forward onto one knee. Julian could feel himself getting edgy in the overtime, the lack of action making the lattice bunch and twist inside him. “Master?”
“Yes, Julian? Oh, I see. No, you can relax. I’m in no danger.” The master turned back to Strider, and Julian let the overtime fall away, tasting cloves and juniper berries in his mouth.
He hadn’t tasted the down of overtime in weeks. He felt naked, standing here clothed in his own skin, the remotes locked downstairs in the crypt.
The master had been specific about that. Very specific.
“What’s… What’s wrong with them?” Strider swallowed, then looked around the table at the other members of the board. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“They’re not saying anything, Mercel Strider, because it’s not my wish that they should do so.” The master walked up behind one of the board, placing a hand on the back of the chair. “You alone here can move, and speak. You will be judged by your actions, and a lesson will be taught from the ashes of your fall.” The master pulled the back of the chair, and the seat fell over, the man in it sprawling on the ground. Julian could see his face pressed against the carpet, eyes open and unblinking.
“You — what?”
“Oh, they can hear just fine. Their thoughts are… Wild, untrained. It’s almost easy.” The master turned towards the team at the door. “Now, Mercel Strider. I’ve saved the best for you. Watch closely.”
One of the members of the strike team swiveled, pointing his weapon at another. The weapon fired, blood spraying out the back of his team member. The man flipped the weapon up and under his own chin, pulling the trigger. The man at the door shot one of his comrades in the back, then dropped his rifle and pulled out a knife in his boot. Eyes wild, he started to stab himself in the stomach, the movements getting weaker before he fell forward onto the carpet.
“There,” said the master. “Four gone in less than a minute, dead by their own hands. Two left. What do you think should happen, Mercel Strider?”
“I—”
“I agree,” said the master. “The woman should be last. It seems only fair, since she abuses her child at home at night.”
“What?” Strider looked at the two members of the team remaining. “What?”
“She abuses her own child,” said the master. “Sometimes with the end of a cigarette, sometimes with a knife. When he cries out, she cuts him more. It’s quite the organization you run here, nothing but the cream of the crop.”
Julian watched as the woman, her hands shaking, turned on the last man. She walked up to him, pressing her thumbs into his eye sockets. The other man made a low sound, anguish leaking out around the edges of the master’s control, blood running down his face. The woman pulled out her sidearm, placed it against the other man’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. Red sprayed again, the body falling to the carpet.
“I’m not sure if her child will be happy or sad she’s not coming home tonight,” said the master. “Now, Mercel Strider, it is time for you to learn the meaning of respect.”
The woman walked over to Strider, something pulling at her step. The master frowned, and the woma
n stumbled before standing straight, her movements clean and smooth again. Strider started to back away, and she used her sidearm to shoot him through the leg.
Strider screamed, dropping to the carpet. The woman grabbed him by the jacket, hauling him upright, and fired her sidearm into the glass wall over the cityscape outside. The glass splintered and cracked, falling into flakes, the wind and rain from outside pushing into the room.
The woman turned back to the table of board members, still frozen in their seats, then lifted Strider into a fireman’s carry. She turned, ran at the cracked window, and burst out into the cold air, falling into the dark below. Julian could hear Strider’s screaming falling away, lost quick and quiet against the rain as he fell.
The master walked to the head of the board table, looking down at the gathered members. Most of them were pale, something in their eyes they were unfamiliar with.
Fear.
The Master opened his arms again. “I believe an introduction is in order. You may call me Prophet.” He smiled at them, then chuckled. The chuckle grew until Prophet was laughing, a great belly laugh full of mirth. “Oh, this world is so gentle, so easy. It will let us do such wondrous things. We will make believers of you all.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“Look, company man, all I want to know is why you dragged me out here.” Sadie kicked a boot through the muck on the street, casting a glance over at Mason. “No, that’s a lie.”
“You don’t want to know?” He looked over at her, the marks on the side of his neck already fading away. “I thought you had a bit more natural—”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“—curiosity, is all.” He turned away from her, looking down the street.
Sadie frowned. She looked down into the bag she carried, loose and light. There’s no damn food in this town. “There’s more.”
“I figured.”
“It’s like this, see,” she said, ticking the items off on her fingers. “First, why the hell did you drag me here? Second, you’ve got a mad scientist and a fourteen-year-old girl with you. What’s with that? Third, I want to know why you’re not hung over.”
“I can get you a guitar.”
“What?”
“You’re a musician, right?”
“How’d you know that?”
“The Hole. I went there.” Mason was still looking down the street. “You must remember that. Before I saw you the second time and shot your asshole boyfriend in the leg.”
“He’s not—” Her hand went to the side of her face where Aldo had hit her. Not anymore. “How you know I play guitar?”
“Right,” said Mason, flicking her a quick glance. “You sat in the bar like you owned it. Not staff.” He smiled. “Definitely not hired help. Strong shoulders. Good voice. Not a drummer. Leaves guitar. Goes with the calluses on your fingers. And the nails.”
“I didn’t pick you for the musical type.”
“Me?” He laughed. “I’m not. I’ve got the musical talent of a deaf dumb blind kid. Do a mean kazoo, that’s about it.”
“What?”
“Kazoo.” He started walking forward again, and she watched as he picked his way through the broken street. “It’s a little—”
“I know what it is. I want to know how you picked all that out if you can’t play.” Sadie rubbed her palms against her pants, the itch of wanting to play pulling at her.
“I listen to a lot of music. Hold up.” He pressed himself against the wall of a building, a hand raised in the air towards her. She watched as he looked around the edge of the building, then stepped from view.
Sadie looked around, alone in the street. “Well, shit,” she said. She listened, but couldn’t hear anything except the low sigh of the wind, the scratch of dead leaves being pushed up the street, rolling and tumbling around her.
She threw a glance back the way they’d come, the street empty behind them, tired and faded signs of a town that didn’t exist. How do you make a town disappear?
Following the thought came a second. How do you make the people disappear?
The hiss pulled her back around, her eyes going up a level to a first floor window. One of the — creatures, they’re not people, they couldn’t be people — was looking down at her, its clawed hands holding at the edge of the broken framing. She took a step back, her mouth dry, and felt her boot catch on the edge of something. Sadie risked a look, saw a hunk of rock, and crouched down to pick it up.
“Mason?” She tried to pitch her voice and keep it low, felt foolish despite her fear. “Mason!”
There was no response. The creature looked down at her, hissing again, lips pulled wide to show crooked, sharp teeth.
Sadie hefted the rock, looking up at it. “Ok, motherfucker. You want a piece?” She squared her shoulders. “I got a piece for you right here.”
It hissed again, then pulled back into the dark of the room, lost from view. Sadie looked at the window a few more moments, then spun around, looking at the street. Last time they’d come, there’d been more than one, ten, a hundred —
She heard the roar, cut short, and turned back to the window in time to see the creature come through the opening. She raised the rock, lowering it after the thing hit the ground, bounced, and didn’t get back up. It’s neck was twisted at a crazy angle, and —
“You ok?” Mason stood in the window, looking down. “Why are you holding a rock?”
“Fuck you, Mason Floyd.”
He threw a grin at her. “It’s just that it looks like—”
“No really. Not a good time.” Sadie lowered the rock, ran her other hand through her hair. “I didn’t know where you were.”
His smile dropped, and he looked down at his hands. “Sorry.” He vaulted over the edge of the window frame, landing in the street, the crunch of loose stones sounding as he landed. She watched his face, caught the wince as he favored a leg.
“Seriously. We’ve just been attacked by a horde of, fuck, I don’t know, fucking mutants or whatever the fuck they are, and you go walking off. I was scared shitless.” Sadie swallowed, the adrenaline starting to wear off. “Fuck you, man. You know what the worst thing is?”
He looked at her. “No.”
“I’m starting to use ‘fuck’ like a comma.” She breathed out. “I normally only do that after the fourth drink.”
“I…” He sighed, looking up the street again. “Do you want that guitar?”
“At least tell me why you did it. Fucking asshole.”
She saw him look down at his hands before looking into her face. “I thought I’d be able to get to it before it showed itself. I thought I’d be able to take it out before you knew it was there.”
“Why? Why not just tell me?”
He shrugged. “Your first question? Why you’re here, on this street. I can get you a guitar. I don’t know if it’s a good one, but… Look, you weren’t a part of the plan. When we put you in the van? It just seemed… The best thing at the time, and snowballed from there. I figure something from home might help.”
“Snowballed. That’s what you call it?”
He ignored her, his eyes looking back down the street. “The way I figure it, this stuff’s not really in your bag, right? So — I was trying to…” He stopped. “Hell with it. I’ll get you the guitar.”
Sadie looked at him, eyes searching his face. “Wait. You didn’t want me to see that thing?” She jerked a thumb at the body in the street.
“Right,” he said. “I dropped the ball.”
“Because you didn’t want me involved?”
“Because it’s not your problem.” He frowned. “This is company business, Sadie. Like you keep saying, I’m a company man. It’s not your deal. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”
“I… Compensated?” A laugh slipped out of her. “For what?”
He waved at the street around them. “For this.”
“What about the kid, Mason?” She took a step closer. “Who makes sure she’s compensated?
”
“The syndicate—”
“Your company,” she said, “can’t compensate that child for the last two days. For last night. For what she did. For you.”
He looked at her, the moment stretching. “She’ll be looked after, Sadie.”
“By who?” Sadie felt her voice rising, didn’t care. “By the mad scientist?”
“No—”
“Then who? You? Don’t make me laugh.” Sadie pointed back down the street the way they’d come. “You can’t even stop a bunch of savages from tearing off her face in an empty town. When you get back in the world? The company’s going to eat her alive. You people don’t understand. This is why we go ‘illegal,’ Mason. We don’t want to put up with your shit.”
He looked at her, something dark in his eyes. “You finished?”
“No.”
“I’ll look after her, Sadie. The company won’t eat her up, spit her out.”
“How do you know?”
“She saved my life. That kid up there? Don’t count her out. She’s tough. Been through some shit, I figure.”
“It’s not enough,” said Sadie. “You know that.”
He raised his hands, palms up. “What do you want from me, Sadie? What do you need me to say?” His voice was cracked, a hint of…
“I don’t need you to say anything,” she said. “I’m just telling you how it is.”
“No one will touch her,” said Mason, his eyes bright, “because I owe her. That good enough for you?”
She looked up into his face, eyes searching. “Ok, Floyd. That’s a start.”
He swallowed. “A start? What else—”
“Get me that fucking guitar.”
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
The shop was old, like everything else, but felt… older. Sadie looked through the windows, tall bars covered with rust and grime standing behind the cracked glass of the window. Ancient clothing, mostly moldered, rotted remains stood on ancient mannequins bleached by the passing of uncounted days.
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