Black Rain

by Matthew B. J. Delaney

  “You sure about this?” Jack said to Night Comfort.

  “No choice.”

  Jack moved to get in. Then the smaller man touched his shoulder from behind, held up a small burlap sack and indicated that he wanted to put the sack over Jack’s head. A blindfold.

  “No, no, no,” Jack said as he stepped back, shaking his head.

  “Yes, is necessary.”

  “No, not necessary,” Jack said to the man, then talking into the sync, “They want to blindfold me? Are you fucking crazy?”

  “You wanted out, this is out,” Night Comfort said. “This is the only way. You have to trust me.”

  Jack turned back to the car. The two men still stood on either side, watching him.

  “Let’s go,” Jack said, walking quickly back to them.

  The smaller man held up the burlap sack again, indicating that he had to put it over Jack’s head.

  “Fuck you,” Jack said pleasantly as the man pulled the sack down and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 41

  Jack could see nothing. His senses were limited to the bump of the road beneath the Mercedes, the smell of cologne, the voice of Synthate resistance on the radio.

  They were driving fast over rutted streets, the windows open as the rush of air fluttered the hood over Jack’s head. There was a fourth man in the car, seated in the back. They had stopped a few moments before, and Jack heard him step inside the car.

  The Mercedes came to a sudden stop, gunfire ahead of them. A rapid conversation in Arabic passed around the car as the three men argued. Then the Mercedes turned and the big engine groaned as Jack accelerated blindly. The car moved jerkily, slowing at times to a crawl, then speeding up again, possibly moving through the debris-covered streets of the Zone.

  Abruptly they stopped.

  Doors opened and the men stepped out. Moments later, Jack’s door opened and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He was lifted out of the car, guided forward across smooth pavement, then into a faintly air-conditioned space and up a flight of hard concrete-like stairs. He heard the ping of an elevator door opening. He was pushed inside and heard the metal rattle of the door as it closed.

  The elevator moved, carrying him upward. Then a pause. A jerk. The doors opened again.

  And nothing.

  Jack stood, waited for someone to guide him forward, but there was no one, the only sound the faint rumble of tank shells in the distance.

  “Hello?” Jack asked.

  No response.

  “Hello? Anyone?”

  Jack reached for the bottom of his hood, slipped his finger under the fabric and slowly lifted it off.

  “I’m taking this off. If there’s anything I shouldn’t see, let me know now . . .”

  He lifted the hood up and blinked in the light. He stood alone in the center of an open elevator car, looking into a hotel hallway lined with doors. The building had been elegant at one time, but had since fallen into disrepair. A worn Oriental carpet covered the floor. He saw peeling wallpaper and a cracked vase filled with wilted flowers, everything in the hallway slightly faded. Tarnished bronze number plates adorned each door, and under each plate, the words The Big Apple Hotel, New York City were inscribed in cursive scroll.

  The Big Apple Hotel.

  The name was familiar to Jack. The Big Apple had been one of the new hotels, elaborately furnished for the hordes of tourists the city thought would come for the Synthate Zone gambling and pleasure parlors. The tourists had never arrived, but the city’s newly renovated buildings remained, waiting with unrequited bank accounts, slowly deteriorating into a faded jewel.

  The hallway was silent. Jack walked slowly down the line. All of the doors were closed. Jack fished from his pocket the key he’d found in the duffel.

  A black tag affixed to the key read 214 in the same cursive scroll.

  Room 214 was last in the hall, nothing to distinguish it from any other door. Jack fitted the key in the lock and turned. There was the snap of a bolt and the knob turned in his hand.

  Jack slowly opened the door, making sure to close it as soon as he entered the space. Beyond was a small space with bare walls and a single paper lantern hanging from the ceiling. There were two beds and an antique, box-style television set. Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him. The room door swung open and Night Comfort entered. She hugged him hard.

  “You made it,” she said as she reached into a duffel bag she carried and pulled out a battery-powered saw with a razor-thin circular blade. She pushed a switch on the base and the saw whirred to life, the blade spinning in a blur of metal.

  “What’s happening outside?” Jack asked.

  “Crusher incursion. They’re looking to take out the resistance.” Night Comfort brought the saw down onto the edge of the television set. The blade tore into the plastic, the electric motor whining as she cut a circumference around the screen.

  She followed the exposed antenna line, to which she attached a quarter-size disk. She turned on the television.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asked.

  “Intercepting the satellite signal. The crushers transmit a live satellite video image from their incursion teams,” she said as she bent down and flipped the channel on the television. Jack watched her, still trying to get his mind moving fast enough to keep up with everything happening.

  “They broadcast the feedback to Calhoun, the head of the crushers. But if you know how to look . . .” she said, pausing on a station and taking a step back, “you can intercept it.”

  The television screen flashed. An image appeared from a handheld camera at eye level inside the passenger seat of a car. The automobile was moving quickly, bouncing over narrow roads in Midtown.

  Night Comfort pulled out a mini-machine gun and a large British Army SA80 from her bag. She laid the weapons on the floor.

  “Do you see that?” She glanced at the television. Onscreen, a car navigated fast through a burned-out road. Honeycomb buildings were crowded tightly together, small alleyways visible in flashes as the vehicle passed.

  “Yes . . .” Jack said.

  “Recognize it?”

  Jack looked closer. The car hit a pothole. The view bounced wildly, then re-centered. The roads were paved but rugged, jutting out in uneven cracks. A series of vacant buildings passed across the screen, then a row of concrete block pods fenced in by barbed wire moved into view.

  “The Midtown Synthate Zone,” Jack said.

  “One block away. They’re coming!”

  “What happens when they get here?”

  Night Comfort stood, holding the British Army SA80 in one hand. “They try and kill us.”

  Jack ran to the window. A black Audi pulled up to the corner. The doors opened and four armed naturals stepped out.

  “Who are they?” Jack said.

  “Crusher hit squad.”

  “Hit squad for who?”

  “For you. They’re coming for you. Go to the closet,” she yelled at Jack. “Get the bag in there.”

  He retrieved the bag and handed it to her.

  The television screen showed the hallway outside. The incursion team was fast, as they’d already made their way up the stairwell. Night Comfort reached behind the screen, unclipped the satellite transmission interceptor, and threw it into the bag along with everything else. She rushed to the door. “Go. Quickly. Across the hall.”

  Jack threw open the door and stepped out. Night Comfort followed after him, dropped the duffel, and produced a key. Around the corner, obscured from view, the sounds of booted feet quickly approached.

  “Hurry,” Jack whispered.

  Night Comfort pushed the key into the lock of the room across the hall. Nothing happened. She pushed again, jiggling the handle. The footsteps had almost reached the corner of the hall, with both of them still in plain view. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Picking up the duffel, she flung it into the darkened room and shoved Jack in, following behind him and slamming shut the door.

&
nbsp; Jack pressed his eye against the keyhole. The hallway outside was empty, stretching out in fish-eye distortion. Suddenly the area filled with men advancing fast and silent.

  There were four of them, all wearing black, each one heavily armed. The men flanked either side of Jack’s previous room. One of the men whispered something into a radio headset, then knelt in front of the door lock and pulled out a plastic card the size and shape of the hotel room key. The card was attached to a phone-size electronic lock decoder. The man fitted the key into the lock and looked down at the decoder.

  A moment later the lock to 214 clicked.

  The man pushed down on the door handle and the armed squad exploded into the room.

  “They’re not wasting time,” Night Comfort said. “We have to go out the balcony.”

  The balcony of their room was high above street level. Jack closed his eyes as he swung his legs over the rusted metal rail. Slowly he lowered himself down until he hung suspended from the bottom edge. Swinging his body, he could barely reach the railing of the balcony below, just grazing the metal with the tips of his toes.

  “Let go,” Night Comfort hissed.

  Jack let go with one hand, his body swinging outward. Far below, the ground swung like a pendulum.

  “Hurry,” Night Comfort called out again. “They’re in the hall! They’re kicking down doors!”

  Night Comfort swung her leg up over the railing, lowering her body down toward Jack. She hung from the same balcony, then dropped, landing gracefully one floor below. Standing up, she turned, reaching for Jack’s legs.

  “I’ve got you,” Night Comfort said. “Just let go.”

  Jack heard a clicking sound from inside room 213. He pulled himself up until his eyes were above the level of the balcony, looking back into the room. The door opened, four crushers coming into the room, each heavily armed. One of the crushers locked eyes with Jack. Without pause, the man raised the barrel of his machine gun.

  Jack let go.

  He felt his body freefall for a moment, then his feet hit hard, catching on the railing of the balcony below and pitching him forward. He landed on his elbows on the concrete, stunned for a moment. Above him came the sound of running footsteps, then the clink of metal as someone above leaned over the side of the railing. Jack felt hands underneath his chest as Night Comfort picked him up.

  Gunfire came from above. The concrete floor of the balcony fragmented into shards of stone. Jack pulled his feet in tight and pressed himself against the glass of the closed balcony doors. Night Comfort swung her bag forward, the heavy gun metal inside smashing the glass.

  They passed quickly through the vacant room and into the exterior hallway.

  As she ran, she unslung the bag again from her shoulder and retrieved the SA80. They pushed open the stairwell door. One floor above, they heard the crash of a second door opening, the crushers following after them. Night Comfort paused, turned, and fired a machine gun burst into the concrete wall.

  They reached the ground floor and rushed out into the street. Outside the chaos of battle still sounded. Night Comfort hid the machine gun back in the duffel bag and together they fled east, away from the fighting.

  “How do we get out of the Zone?” Jack asked.

  “Synthate resistance hit the grids that control the wall. All power is down. We can move freely. For now, anyway.”

  They headed two blocks east before they hit the massive wall that separated the Zone from the naturals’ area. The wall was fifty feet high and layered with Synthate graffiti, like old 2Dees of the Berlin Wall. Two Synthates stood waiting near a boarded-up brownstone. Night Comfort greeted them, and the Synthates guided her and Jack into the building.

  Inside, a stairwell led down to the basement.

  “We built this tunnel years ago,” Night Comfort said. “But when power is on to the grid, movement sensors in the wall make it impossible to use.”

  She opened a heavy metal door, and beyond was a narrow hallway cut into the ground and lined with hanging lanterns. The tunnel threaded its way between old Con Edison pipes and hundred-year-old water mains. The two moved quickly until they reached a metal stairway leading up.

  “Where did you learn all this?” Jack asked, amazed at her special ops skills.

  “I’ve been training for years. The Synthates from the Games, those who survive, they teach some of us about weapons and combat. We have others who have gained access to tracking technologies. We study how the crushers operate so we know how to fight them.”

  The stairs ended in the basement of an abandoned store. They made their way onto an empty street. Behind them loomed the Zone wall. They were on the natural side.

  They walked fast, trying to distance themselves from the Zone. Jack turned toward Night Comfort. “Do you have your sync?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “My father mentioned something called a 6th Day Samp. Said it would change everything for Synthates and that it was hidden near Beach’s Road.”

  Night Comfort flipped open her sync. A small map hovered over her palm. “There’s a Beach Road in Staten Island.”

  “Doesn’t sound right,” Jack said. “Beach’s Road doesn’t have to be in New York City. It might not even be called Beach Road. It might just be near water somewhere.”

  “There are thousands of roads like that.”

  “Can you get me to the Bank of New York?” Jack asked, thinking of the promise he’d made to his father.

  “What’s there?”

  “Something my father left me. And I need to find it.”

  CHAPTER 42

  The Wall Street branch of Bank of New York rose like an Egyptian monolith from the busy downtown streets. While the Synthate Zone burned and hundreds died, down here, life went on as normal for the naturals. Most had no idea what was happening on the other side of the wall. And as long as their streets got cleaned and someone made their food, they didn’t want to know.

  “My father knew what was coming,” Jack said. “He planned for it. I have to believe that he left something to help.”

  There was no hiding inside the marble-lined bank lobby. Naturals milled around, waited in line for the teller, or deposited cash into touch buck card refills. A Synthate musical trio played a cello, a violin, and a grand piano in the far corner. When Synthate labor was free, why not have it played live? Two Synthate waiters in black tie stood behind a refreshment bar, serving lemon meltwater to customers. In the midst of this, Jack, dirty and bloodied, and Night Comfort, an obvious Synthate Social, her bioprint of a pacing tiger flashing on her skin, quickly drew attention. Within moments, a bank manager scurried over to meet them.

  “I’m here to pick up a deposit box,” Jack said. He pressed his thumb against a touch scanner. The machine blipped green. The manager’s eyes narrowed, hesitant to let them deeper into the bank, but he turned on his heels. “Right this way, sir.”

  Jack and Night Comfort were led to a sealed metal door with a second keypad. The manager punched in a code and then heavy bolts clanged as they unlocked. The metal door swung slowly open.

  “Follow me,” the bank manager commanded, and together they stepped through the doorway. As they entered, overhead lights illuminated a classroom-size room with a maple table and stuffed leather chairs.

  “Well, sir, I’ll give you your privacy,” the manager said, and then he was gone. The metal door closed behind him.

  An eyeScreen in the corner flashed to life. The Genico logo twirled, and then a 3Dee of Jack’s father appeared, standing life size in his old office. The prerecorded image was clearer than in Genico.

  “My son,” his father began, his eyes fixed forward onto the recorder. “If you’re watching this, then you know the truth of your life. I am sorry for what I had to conceal from you, but for your safety, I thought it necessary. A lie is easier to live if you believe the lie to be true.

  “By now you must know that you are the son of a Synthate and a natural. Synthates were never designed to be able to crea
te new life on their own. And so you are beautifully unique, Jack. A child that science held to be an impossibility.

  “My entire life I have been a scientific mind. A mind bound by rational ideals. I have lived in a world set forth by immutable laws. But as I advance steadily toward my own passage from this world, I have come to realize that to truly expand, the scientific mind must come to understand the possibility of something more than natural law. Some great life force that binds us all, natural and Synthates. And with the existence of this greater being, there is no impossible.

  “What makes naturals different from Synthates? Some would say it is the presence of a soul. Of an everlasting life force within naturals that Synthates will never know. But I have seen things. Synthates who put paint to canvas in beautiful ways. Composed music that moved anyone who listened. Creation. Your father was a Synthate. Your mother was natural. And yet they loved each other more deeply than anything I have ever experienced, and in this love, they created you. And this is the greatest proof of a soul that I know. This is the truest miracle I have ever seen.

  “But perhaps naturals are not yet ready for miracles. Perhaps the marvels of rational science have dulled their capacity to understand what is beyond science. And we always fear what we don’t understand. Naturals may fear you, Jack, and in fear, there is danger. By now, I’m sure, you have become aware of this. The part I have played in enslaving something as great as Synthates has brought me great shame. I could never have conceived of the ways naturals would find to torment and abuse my life’s work.

  “And for that I am truly sorry.

  “I have created for you a new identity. I have left you everything that was mine. And with this I hope you can find freedom.

  “I am sorry, Jack. I am sorry for having lied to you. I am sorry for having lied to Dolce. But what has brought me great happiness is watching the love that you two have grown to share with each other. If you should ever doubt yourself, if you should ever question your own humanity, you need only look at this. Humans are selfish creatures. But love is the selfless act we are all capable of. And it is beyond the scientific mind to ever understand.