The business card said, “Dox River Bar – A local favorite.” There was an address and phone number listed. She pushed it back into her jacket pocket. She wasn’t interested in restaurant work.
Ida decided to walk the downtown street, willing her mind to clear and her pulse to slow. She passed people who were on their way to or from business meetings and lunch appointments. This was the central business district, tightly contained within a four-block radius. Working here meant higher status, decent income, and a clean office in which to work. It stood in stark contrast to the factories, sweatshops, and outside markets throughout the rest of the city.
Once, Spark City had been a financial hub. But when the markets were wiped out in a major hacking attack from foreign countries, and everyone’s savings and credit were destroyed, millions of jobs were lost all at once.
Rioting and looting followed, destroying many offices and buildings. The financial center, Section R, had once spanned the entire city center before it folded in upon itself. What remained was the last attempt at regaining the city’s financial standing.
The hybrid was right—Ida had no chance at landing an office computer programming job. Her only choice would be hospital work—maybe. Her military file was a red flag to employers who were already suspicious of returning military soldiers, most of whom had ridiculously bad cases of post-traumatic stress.
She was labeled a troublemaker with authority problems. The city’s motto should be, “Welcome to Spark City, and good luck finding work. Happy slow starvation.”
She slowed her pace, trying to catch her breath. She’d have to take more drastic measures to find work. With a tiny military stipend, she figured she could look for work in one of the factories.
I’d be more useful in a hospital. She pushed the thought away as quickly as it entered her head. Medical work meant a life of hiding and being careful about her every move like in the military. It also meant never getting close to anyone, and she had hoped the city offered a new start and maybe a chance at a dating life.
Her thoughts were interrupted by several people running past her. Their faces reflected fear and panic. Something was happening in the public square just ahead.
Ida crossed the street where they came from, nearing a building. Her right side was against a wall, and she stood a few people deep, but could see over them thanks to her height.
The bystanders focused on the center of the square. She noticed a tall, muscular man pacing. Several others appeared to be sitting in front of him.
Curious, Ida edged her way to the front of the small group of onlookers. She saw that the people were on their knees in front of the man. He held a military-grade rifle, the kind Ida had carried while in service.
There was a solemn quiet among the onlookers. A man next to her said, “Call the police,” and walked away quickly. Others started walking away, too.
The man with the gun continued pacing back and forth in front of the five people kneeling before him. They had their heads bowed, and some were shaking or whimpering.
Ida’s instincts took over. She was trained for these types of high-stakes situations. The man was former military and having some kind of post-traumatic episode.
She assessed the area. Halfway between her and the former soldier was a long, stone bench that offered her coverage if she could make her way there without startling him.
She timed it so his pacing caused him to turn his back to her briefly. Ida moved like a panther to the stone bench, where she squatted, waiting.
The man turned toward her, making his way back down the line of people facing him—people who awaited possible execution.
He saw her and assumed a fighter’s stance, aiming the weapon squarely at her.
Without thinking, Ida raised her hands, showing her open palms. “I mean no harm. I want to help,” she said loudly enough to be heard across the twenty odd feet that separated them. A siren wailed in the distance.
Although new to Spark City, Ida knew from word of mouth that the police here were bad news. They asked no questions and shot first. Worse, Spark City’s human police force was being replaced mostly by androids, thanks to the mayor.
Receiving no response, Ida said, “I’m a former soldier, like you.” They kept their eyes locked on one another, Ida’s hands still up.
He regarded her with suspicion. He took a few steps toward her. “Are you armed?”
“No weapons,” Ida said. “The police are on their way. I can hear them coming. You know that’s not going to end well. They’ll shoot everyone here. We don’t have much time.” Still no reaction, so she adopted a formal, forceful tone. “State your name and business here, soldier.”
“Officer Riley. 5th Airborne.”
“How long have you been out, Riley?” she asked.
“Two weeks.”
“What is your purpose here? What have these people done?”
Riley paused, thinking. Ida’s attempt to get him grounded to the reality of the situation was starting to work. “I can’t find work; everyone treats me like a criminal,” he said. “I served, put my life on the line, and now this. Someone needs to pay!”
Ida knew there were vehicles rushing toward the square, closing in. Groups of onlookers started moving away from the scene. She inhaled the crisp, thin air sharply as adrenaline took over.
“Riley, I get it. I have the same problem. I can’t find work either. Just arrived in Spark City a few days ago. Let’s put the gun down and walk away from here quickly. I can help you. We can put our brains together over a few beers,” said Ida.
Ida’s offer seemed to give Riley second thoughts. But as he started to slowly lower his gun, shots rang out from the opposite side of the square. Riley was hit from behind in his left shoulder, causing him to fall forward to his knees. A teenage boy—one of Riley’s captives—was hit in the side. He fell on his side, facing Ida. She could see the shocked expression on the teen’s face.
Across the square, a line of police drones had formed. Black military vehicles with sirens appeared on the scene to back them up. The drones were cybernetic and had human forms, with two legs and arms, yet were seven feet tall.
In the confusion, two of the hostages crawled away on hands and knees. The police drones, decked out in riot gear and armed with fully automatic rifles, advanced on the square toward Ida, Riley, the injured boy, and the two remaining hostages.
Ida crawled toward Riley, stretching her hand. She had seen a side street that would be protected from the police fire. Suddenly a tear gas canister erupted close by. The smoke quickly clouded the area, hiding them from view.
She pulled her black scarf over her mouth and nose. Riley pulled himself to his knees. His face expressed pain and grief. Ida knew that look: despair.
He swung the barrel of the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, falling over in a heap.
A wave of bullets tore through the square, killing the two hostages who had gotten to their feet to run.
Keeping low, Ida reacted quickly, moving just beyond Riley to the teenager who’d been shot by police. Seeing he was conscious, she told him, “Come with me. I’ll help you.”
He looked up and grabbed her hand.
Chapter 5
Ida pulled the teenage boy to his feet. He couldn’t stand by himself, and nearly all the weight of his tall, skinny frame rested on Ida.
All she could think was to clear the scene and escape before they were killed by the police. The drones had thrown more tear gas grenades into the square. She took one last glance at Riley’s body sprawled on the pavement. She might have helped him, but it was too late now. He was too far gone.
Ida and the young man made an unlikely pair as she half-dragged him to a side street. She decided to keep moving them away from the scene to get distance from the police. They were on Rosen Avenue, and passed three streets that ran perpendicular.
She turned right on Bernard Street so they would be in another city section, away from R. She thought that would be
wise.
They crossed another two streets and detoured rapidly into a side alley, as Ida continued to support most of his weight. “What’s your name, kid?” she asked.
“Paul.” He breathed heavily.
“Where does it hurt?” They were almost to a place where it would be safe to sit. She wondered whether they were being followed, but didn’t have time to think about it. Events had happened so quickly. She stopped their forward motion and looked back behind them, scanning the alley and the street they had just exited.
Passersby walked quickly along the street, wanting to get away from the police, but nobody followed them into the alley. She turned her attention back to Paul.
They neared the end of the alley, which was blocked by a brick wall at the end. Ida didn’t like the no-exit situation, but there was no choice. Time was running out for Paul. He bled steadily from his side, where the bullet had lodged. He grew paler and weaker during their walk.
Ida lowered him slowly to the ground. “Paul, stay with me here,” she said. “You will be okay. Maybe you’ll even look back and laugh at this someday.”
He lay with his back propped against the alley wall. Piles of cardboard boxes, stray pieces of paper, and plastic bottles littered the ground beside them.
“I’m so tired,” said Paul.
“I know.” Ida squatted in front of him. She removed her gloves, pulled up his shirt, and placed her hands on the area of his abdomen near his gunshot wound.
Paul tried to look down, but his head lolled to one side. “Hey, that’s…” He was losing consciousness.
Ida continued touching his wound, and closed her eyes. She hoped this worked. Let it happen this time.
She felt a familiar sensation where she seemed to become very small and travel down the veins within her arms and into her fingertips. She could sense the jump from her own body into his.
In small, powerful bursts of energy, she was inside his abdomen. She could see where the bullet had lodged next to his spleen, and she took it and drew it toward her until it was nothing but disintegrated pieces of dust.
Tiny beads of light wrapped the place in Paul’s side where the bullet had torn through. Each stream of light was uniquely her, everywhere inside him at once, repairing damage and leaving him stronger.
After a minute, Paul’s eyes opened. “Hey, that feels warm,” he smiled. “I feel tingling all over my body.”
Ida had seen this reaction before with those she’d helped. It wouldn’t be much longer now.
“Am I dying?” Paul asked.
Ida laughed. “Far from it. You’re going to feel like a rock star in a few days.”
Three more minutes passed. Ida wanted to make sure her touch had worked. She inspected the wounded area. Paul’s bloody shirt had been ripped open where the bullet had entered his side, but what had been a bloody open wound now looked like a large gash. It was sealed, and the bleeding had stopped. In a day, his skin would regenerate and leave no mark. Fragments of the bullet would be lodged inside, but any internal damage had been healed.
Paul’s normal color had returned. He regained control of his head and neck and stared at the woman working on his side. “What’s going on? What happened?” He seemed to be waking from a dream.
“You were shot,” said Ida. She still wore the black scarf over her face, and finally pulled it down around her neck so she could breathe easier.
“What the…?”
Ida continued, “You need to get somewhere safe. Lay low. Do not contact the police or tell anyone about what happened. The police tried to kill you. You could be in danger.”
Paul looked around, seeming to regain a grasp on where he was. “Ok, I’m sitting in an alley with a strange lady after being shot, but now I’m fine?”
Ida put her black gloves back on. “Your memory will clear up in a few hours.” Ida turned to walk away and said over her shoulder, “Remember, get somewhere safe. No talking to anyone asking questions.”
She walked quickly down the alley toward the street, when she suddenly noticed they had not been alone after all. Ida caught a glimpse of a man’s back. He wore a long, gray trench coat and a black fedora with dark-green trim. She caught a glimpse of black hair under the hat. He was just rounding the corner to turn right on the street ahead.
Ida's heart raced. Did he see us? She couldn’t risk being discovered. As she moved onto the busy downtown sidewalk, she checked for her small backpack; it was still securely fastened to her back. At least she still had her keys, ID, and some cash. After having smuggled her military-issue switchblade on her journey to Spark City, she’d left it in her bag during the job interview. She realized it would now come in handy should she find herself in another dangerous situation.
The man continued walking, faster now, thirty feet ahead. It was nearing lunch hour, which meant the streets were busy as workers started pouring out of skyscrapers in search of food from street vendors.
Ida followed him through the busy streets. She kept pace, but hung back from time to time. The man pulled out a phone and started talking to someone. He checked a watch on his left arm.
She hadn’t been able to catch sight of his face. It was odd that he never seemed to look back to check if he was being followed.
Suddenly, he turned onto a side street. Fearing she might lose him, Ida ran ahead to round the corner, pushing a few people to the side in her hurry.
She turned the corner, but there was no sign of the man.
Had she lost him? She had to know where he was going. What if he was police? She ran down the narrow street, which opened onto another busier main street that had no vehicles. There were only food trucks to serve the hungry office workers.
Ida scanned the crowd in both directions, looking for the hat. Nothing. He had vanished.
She decided to move with the general flow of traffic, toward the river. She shook her hands and arms, trying to shake out some of the adrenaline. Then she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and moved to the drawbridge that spanned the river.
Many years had passed since the bridges were opened. There was once a need for tall ships to pass through Spark City’s river ways, making their voyage to the great wide lake beyond. She paused on top of the bridge. A moody sky had given way to the sun, which made a glittering path across the river water. Ida thought about jumping. It was a crazy idea, and she knew better. Still, she ached to be submerged and swept out. Away from people, away from death, and away from anyone finding out about her powers. For every time she saved a life, there were a thousand more who perished that she couldn’t get to—people who died senselessly. It was a weight she could no longer bear.
She caught a glimpse of the fedora in the corner of her vision. The man from the alley turned and entered a building—a bar situated along the riverside.
Ida walked across the bridge and took the stairs leading down to the river two at a time. The sign above the bar read “Dox.” The name sounded vaguely familiar. She would research it later, but first she needed to find the man in the hat.
Without a thought, she pushed open the heavy wooden door that led into the bar. She entered a small vestibule that was shrouded with heavy black curtains. The area contained a tall desk for a host to check people in.
Nobody was there. She supposed that was normal, since it was the middle of the day and most bars didn’t open until after working hours.
She considered her situation. She was in an unknown bar, her only weapon was tucked away in her bag, and she was looking for a stranger whom she had followed. She could be walking into anything.
Ida wasn’t shy, and she had done well by trusting her instincts. She had a feeling she would survive this, so she forged ahead. With her gloved hands, she pushed aside the heavy black curtains and stepped into a large room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the side of the bar that overlooked the river. The large ceilings contained metal fans spinning slowly. In the back, a long wooden bar held a variety of booze-filled glass bo
ttles, drinkware, and framed black-and-white photos of Spark City’s past.
Three rows of high-top tables flanked the room, and there was one person besides Ida in the place. He wasn’t human.
Chapter 6
“No, no, no,” said Vance between clenched teeth. The proposed concept was not what he had in mind at all. “What was your name again?”
The WXSC TV station production manager blushed and stammered, “Nancy. Nancy Brown.”
Vance was losing patience with the station’s incompetence. He needed to get his commercial out fast now that two more ex-soldiers had gone crazy and shot people in the same week. Finally, public opinion was turning in his favor, and he needed to back it up with a compelling message to Spark City’s residents.
Someone would pay for this shoddy work. Vance felt his rage rising. The woman named Nancy had shown creative promise in her first meetings with Vance, and he was surprised at the direction the production team had taken. The commercial they proposed was awful.
The station owner probably didn’t pay Nancy much, but most jobs didn’t pay very well. Vance made sure wages were low, so that citizens focused on earning enough to survive without ever getting too comfortable. A city with scarcity meant people didn’t have the luxury of asking many questions.
Large windows flanked the station’s executive conference room. Below, a busy street brimmed with people on their way to factories, apartment buildings, and stores that sold protein packs and water.
Vance paced the length of the room as three small camera drones hovered around him, filming his every move. He stopped abruptly and smiled directly into one of the cameras. “I need a moment of privacy,” he said.
On cue, one of his bodyguards stepped forward and issued a command to the small drones. “Disengage.” The man watched as the drones landed softly on the floor and folded themselves into compact packages, before he scooped them up and dropped them into a sleek, chrome briefcase.
Nancy stood in the center of the room looking lost. Her body was rigid, and her hands shook slightly.
Brink (Spark City Book 1) Page 3
