Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1)

by Nathan Wilson

  As she puzzled over the image, a threatening sound rang out—one that sent a sliver of ice through her. Lowering the flyer, she saw something sparkling at the end of tunnel.

  “But this tunnel was supposed to be abandoned!” she cried. No amount of protesting would save her now.

  Vivian had only seconds to escape before the massive train would shave her down to a few inches. She spotted a crevice in the wall and mindlessly hurled herself at it.

  “Damn it!”

  Her shoulder burned as she tried to wedge herself into that space. Just a few inches more and—the bellowing yawn turned into a mechanical scream. A chain of booths whirred by, wisps of human faces reflecting from the glass panes. None of them even spared a glance in her direction as they careened into the depths.

  The sound hammered away at her brain, scattering her thoughts in every direction. When she tried to curl up into a ball, she felt herself falling.

  “Oof!” The air blasted out of Vivian’s lungs as she hit the ground hard. She opened her eyes to find herself on the other side of the wall.

  As if oncoming trains weren’t ill-fated enough, the ceiling had collapsed ahead. She peered over her shoulder as the growl of another speeding train pierced the silence. The map Daniel provided didn’t reveal anything about hidden tunnels. There was no way she was wedging herself through that crack again.

  The next few tunnels were equally as abandoned, steering her further away from her destination. At least she wouldn’t have to contend with oncoming trains this time, just rats.

  A solitary figure emerged among the ruins. Vivian quickly ducked behind the rubble.

  It can’t be, she thought.

  The small figure shifted ahead, prancing in the darkness. It was skipping stones down the tunnel and hopping around like an imp.

  I need to turn around. I should never have been so reckless in cutting through these tunnels. Nikolai can suck it because I’m done!

  The hair on the back of her neck bristled as something crawled up her legs. She dreaded the thought of looking down to see whatever pest was exploring her body. Unfortunately, she didn’t have to. The gnashing of little teeth told her all she needed to know. Thoughts of rabies and other rodent-borne diseases tormented her as needle-sharp claws pricked her skin. She held her breath, trying not to provoke it with any sudden movements. A nail poked her pink flesh and she let out a sharp gasp. The rat skittered away. Vivian breathed easier and, after a few minutes, she looked around the rubble. The silhouette was gently petting the rat.

  The figure looked much smaller than she thought, and Vivian smiled at the oddity. Maybe it wouldn’t pose her any danger. Its head violently snapped up.

  The silhouette barreled toward her, and before she knew it, a little boy buried her in a hug. Vivian’s terror was quickly replaced with a smile.

  “What are you doing down here?” The boy didn’t reply. He only curled himself more intently around her leg. He wore a jacket made of coarse fabric and his toes poked through his shoes. Thick, brown hair wreathed his face, and his marble-like eyes glimmered in the flecks of light. “Are you lost?”

  He shook his head.

  “So you live here? In these tunnels?” She peered down the metro, its jaded horizon bathed in a glossy pall. For all she knew, this surreal passage led to a realm beyond the mortal world, condemning her soul to wander for eternity. The boy tugged insistently on her hand.

  “What in the world are you doing underground? What’s your name?” He remained mute, nuzzling against her warmth like a baby cub. “Can you at least take me to the outskirts?” He nodded eagerly, almost too eagerly. Vivian had so many questions bubbling up inside, but his voice seemed locked away. Maybe the only way to extract any answers was to follow him. “Okay, show me the way.”

  Similar to the tunnel behind her, the ceiling had begun to sink into the floor, as if an enormous worm had shaped the tunnel.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” The boy’s chin only bobbed up and down. Tinted sunlight peeked through holes gouged in the ceiling, casting its icy hue on the tunnels. The jungle of concrete and shambles reminded her of a post-apocalyptic scene from a film.

  Vivian could see light emanating from around the sharp bend of the tunnel. She anticipated filling her lungs with fresh air or soaking in the sunlight. She was gravely disappointed when she stumbled around the corner. Sixteen figures were gathered around a bonfire, gazing into its snapping depths.

  “Shit!” She stumbled back, dragging the boy along with her. To her indignation, he refused. “I’m not going that way!” she hissed.

  He matched her stubbornness, thrashing and pulling her forward. His hands were like iron, clenching her so tight that needles of pain burrowed into her skin.

  “Stop it!” she screamed. Her voice echoed around the bend, and she knew at once the mob of strangers heard her. The rustle of bodies grew louder like a swarm in the dark, passionately waiting to envelope her. Gritting her teeth, she gripped the boy’s hand and marched ahead.

  One of the figures slowly reared up from the fire, towering over the newcomers. His face was chiseled by the elements of the metro, reflecting a rugged existence that very few chose to endure. Even his eyes seemed a bit engorged from the perpetual darkness.

  “Mikhael, how thoughtful of you to invite someone,” he smiled.

  The boy pointed excitedly at Vivian and hugged her leg again.

  “No, she isn’t your mother. But maybe she could be your sister, if you want. I appreciate you delivering her to me.”

  “Delivering me?” Vivian sputtered. “What do you think I am? A gift for you?” She tried to step back even as the boy latched on to her leg.

  “Forgive the expression. In all honesty, you should be grateful to Mikhael for shepherding you through the tunnels. Anyone roaming aimlessly around in the metro could trigger an underground collapse. I am Joakim, and these are my family.”

  “I need passage to the outskirts.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Vivian.”

  “You will certainly die if you attempt to pass these tunnels alone, Vivian. Some of them are unstable and prone to collapse. Only we know the safest path through the metro.”

  “You don’t strike me as the sort of gentleman who would help me if I say ‘please.’”

  “No, not exactly,” his lips curled in a smile. “But I recognize an opportunity where we can both benefit from each other. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

  “Nothing is ever easy, is it?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Please, follow me into our train.”

  “Your train…?”

  Vivian’s eyes widened when she saw the mangled booths strewn across the tunnel. The windows had been blown out and the roof peeled off in a grotesque fashion. Only then did she realize that items of clothing and luggage were stoking the fire they gathered around like a witches’ coven.

  “Did you do this?”

  Joakim waved his hand in dismissal.

  “This train disappeared down Line C several months ago. It was unfortunate timing because an earthquake tore through Prague, and the train bounced off the tracks. Almost everyone died in the crash.”

  “Do the police know?”

  “No, and we intend to keep it that way. We’ve made our home here and we can’t afford to be driven out. As you surely saw on your way, portions of the tunnel caved in. It’s too dangerous for anyone to venture here alone, although I see you’ve managed.”

  “Mikhael showed me the way.”

  “Ah, yes, Mikhael. He was the only survivor of the accident.” Vivian looked at the boy huddled near the bonfire. He had since unraveled from her leg and stared thoughtfully into the gasping flames.

  “I often find him wandering the tunnels, still searching for his deceased parents,” Joakim lamented. “Every day, every night—not that we can tell the difference down here. I simply didn’t have the heart to tell him they’re gone. He’s a part of our family now. Now he has si
xteen fathers to look after him.”

  “That’s awfully kind of you.” Chewing over Vivian’s words, Joakim gazed paternally at Mikhael,

  “Kindness has nothing to do with it. Any decent man would take him as a son.” He abruptly nodded at the train. “Shall we discuss our transaction inside?”

  The gang bangers hungrily watched Vivian as she followed their leader. She recalled a pack of stray dogs that once eyed her in a similar manner, an uncanny comparison to members of her own species.

  Once inside the train, she navigated over the suitcases splayed in the aisles. She suspected Joakim and his accomplices already raided the personal belongings of the dead, leaving behind only trash in their wake. Magazines and newspapers dating back to the day of the crash littered the seats.

  Joakim nimbly swept into one of the decorated rail cars. Books were strewn across the room, lying open to passages about organized revolution and anarchy. Maps of Prague hung from the walls with red pins stuck in certain municipal districts. Vivian had decorated her bedroom in a similar manner, except with anatomy charts and medical terminology.

  “Fancy,” she quipped.

  “Each member has his own personal chambers on the train. We may as well make use of the gift God sent us. Please, take a seat.”

  Dozens of ID cards littered the table, stripped from the bodies of deceased passengers. It looked as though Joakim and other gang bangers were attempting to adopt the identities of the crash victims. She almost wondered if Joakim would forge one for her. The prospect of running far away from Prague always proved enticing.

  Joakim instantly swept the cash off the tabletop, making it crystal clear he did not trust the intruder in his midst.

  “Mar javam?”

  “What?”

  “Mar javam, a special blend of salvia and shisha. Would you like some?” Vivian glanced at the hookah pipes reverently arranged on shelves once used to hold luggage.

  “No, that’s okay. So tell me about this proposition you have.”

  “I always conduct business over shisha. To decline is an insult to my hospitality.”

  “That seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Joakim gingerly sprinkled mar javam over the hookah filter, ignoring her. He added a few sizzling coals and the rich smell of vice permeated the chamber. Vivian watched as he pursed his lips against the mouthpiece and imbibed his share of delirium.

  “I have a problem that needs some resolving,” he hissed as tendrils of smoke slithered from his lips. They twined like snakes in the air, circling Vivian as if in search of prey.

  “As you might imagine, I have many business partners scattered across the metropolitan area. I’m in the habit of providing medicine for those in need of my charity.”

  “Like what?”

  “My wares include salvia, marijuana, ecstasy, and methamphetamine. I have gained quite a loyal following of clients, but unfortunately, we do not always see eye to eye.” Joakim offered the hose extending from the hookah. The ornate glass base swirled with sapphire lights. “Are you a fan of ambience?”

  “Maybe. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Music enhances the salvia trip.”

  “Go ahead.” Delighted, Joakim swooped toward an old record player. It was perhaps the only way he could channel music into this underground abyss.

  An eerie ambience oozing with emotion fell like autumn rain. No stranger to hookah, Vivian sucked the mouthpiece until her lungs tingled. They traded the hookah back and forth, quietly soaking in the music.

  “A man named Thuomas has failed to fulfill his part of our bargain,” Joakim finally said. “I need you to motivate him to pay.”

  Vivian choked on the hookah, violently expelling a laugh.

  “Do I look like a mercenary to you?” she said, flinging out her arms. They felt weightless, barely hanging from their sockets like a marionette. Even her head tilted at an odd angle.

  “No,” Joakim said. His voice was traveling through another medium now, perhaps water or plasma. “In all honesty, I just need a body to carry out my commands, regardless of your talents.” His blunt tongue caught her off guard. Joakim’s eyes narrowed dangerously and she knew at once he wasn’t a man to be trifled with.

  “His fiancée works at The Toxic Mistress club. Judging by your appearance, I’m sure you’re familiar with it. The woman in question is named Audrey. I want you to leave her a gift in the back room.”

  “That’s an odd way of extortion.”

  “It isn’t extortion when someone rightfully owes me money. Besides, this is unlike any gift she’ll ever receive. I would deliver this myself but I wouldn’t dare show my face above the surface. According to my sources, the chief of police is determined to make me hang. I’ve heard he has a special cell block set up just for me, the sort of filthy hole you might expect in Turkey.”

  “And why does he want your head?”

  “I’ve corrupted several of his top lieutenants. In fact, I bribed one of them to assassinate Josef Láska. As you can see, his efforts obviously failed. And while he was being interrogated, the bastard let my name slip.” He shook his head and uttered a few “tsk’s.”

  “I wager the sleazy bastard thought his confession would save him. Never trust the word of a cop, nonetheless anyone working for them.”

  Vivian shifted uncomfortably. I suppose you wouldn’t trust me if you knew the truth. Fortunately, Joakim either missed or chose to ignore the signals Vivian’s body transmitted.

  Instead, Joakim approached a vase and plucked thirteen calla lilies. He quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper and tucked it in an envelope.

  “Lilies?” Vivian piped up. She remembered seeing lilies somewhere before. An image drifted into focus in her mind.

  Krista. Twelve milky white lilies surrounded her portrait at the candlelight vigil. The flowers seemed to whirl around from the effects of salvia. She gave a start when she looked down and saw the lilies in her own hands. They bounced up and down to the melody of the music.

  “Everything will be explained when the task is done. I also want you to include this letter.” He pressed the envelope into her hands, his cold fingertips kissing hers.

  “Then you’ll guide me to the outskirts?”

  “Of course.”

  Vivian meekly nodded and turned away, clutching the flowers in both hands like a surreal wedding bouquet.

  “One last thing,” Joakim interjected. “Don’t let anyone see the flowers you’re carrying. You might draw unnecessary attention.”

  “What if Thuomas doesn’t pay?”

  Joakim only flashed a smile, and that told her everything she needed to know.

  Before she even realized it, he planted a farewell kiss on her cheek.

  * * *

  The Toxic Mistress awaited her as always across the street, the gathering place exclusive to the cyberpunk community.

  Prepared to play her role, Vivian donned garters, a boned corset, combat boots, and a playful bow in her hair. Jet black mascara bled down her cheeks. Her red eyes snapped wide open like portals to Gehenna.

  She thrust the door open with the dominance one had come to expect from Red Widow. A conclave of prosthetic men and women inhabited the darkness, a realm somewhere between a perverse harem and a hospital.

  Artificial hair made of braided wire and vibrant plastic tubing dangled from their heads. Women clad in body suits and latex surgical masks fetched drinks for the writhing masses. Musical distortion with a high tempo and odd noises saturated the club atmosphere.

  It was Vivian’s natural domain, the sort of environment a high-strung character like Nikolai couldn’t set foot in without tripping a radar.

  Gas mask respirators obscured the faces of three patrons, from which hoses filtered into a glowing hookah pipe. They expelled the fumes through nasal passages in the masks, their eyes fogged with ecstasy.

  Vivian wished she could join in their hedonism but the task ahead surely demanded her wits be intact. She had only ca
rved her path halfway across the room when every eye fell on her. Within moments, she lurched to a halt. Even the sound of swelling bass and synthesizers abated.

  Why are they looking at me? The burning flush that flooded her cheeks was strong enough to peek through even the fairest makeup.

  Suddenly, the stage curtains pulled back to reveal the evening’s entertainment: female twins conjoined at the hip, further entangled by two straitjackets. Two pairs of naked legs dangled pendulously from the stool, and their alabaster skin glowed in the lacy shadows. Their rosy lips leaned toward the microphones dangling from IV tubes.

  An avalanche of voice distortion, deranged synths, and hypersexual lyrics assaulted Vivian. Blending electronically, the sultry voice bounced around in her cranium.

  “Carve off my face and replace it with latex and silicon. Make me just like all the other prissy whores splattered on the TV screen.”

  Suddenly, a man across the room snapped into focus. Industrial blades jutted from his scalp in a razor-sharp Mohawk. A monocle gleamed on his left eye. Clad in black suspenders, a striped shirt, and a tie, he embodied the quintessential butler, although Vivian suspected no ordinary servant would operate in such a place as The Toxic Mistress—and certainly not one with a Mohawk fashioned from blades. If those blades didn’t poke out her eyes, surely his jutting cheekbones would. And yet, a certain air of dignity and morbid elegance clung to him.

  Overcome with curiosity, she skipped toward the bar.

  “Who might you be?” she chimed, leaning her elbows on the counter. “I haven’t seen you here before.” He looked up as a sly smile creased his thin lips.

  “Gavin, one of the proprietors of The Toxic Mistress. I recently enlisted with this legion of debauched souls only several weeks ago. To whom do I owe this luscious pleasure?”

  “Red Widow.” A crack splintered through the glass he rammed down. He had fallen completely still. Gavin finally lifted his eyes from the foggy absinthe swimming in the glass.

  “So it is true,” he murmured softly. “You look just like her.”