“Would-be murderers think twice. They know that there’s a good chance of being caught.”
“Would-be murderers are smart enough to remove the eyes to prevent them being read.”
“Like you did.”
“Like Indira did.”
“Under your instruction.”
“Yes. What bothers you more? That a man died, or that a telepath took orders from a man like me to do it?”
“It bothers me that the man is dead full stop. He didn’t deserve to die.”
“But he did. He was part of this. Without people like him, and people like you, this place wouldn’t exist.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Let things be the way they were before,” Growden said.
“And let murderers get away with it.”
“That’s why we have a police force for God’s sake. We don’t need remnant keepers shoving dead people’s eyes into their own heads to give us the full picture.”
“The genie’s out of the bottle.”
“Yes, yes it is.” Growden paused. His eyebrows knitted together. “But there might be another reason they have this place. Something they want no one to know about.”
Jack shifted on his feet. He was exhausted, only the adrenaline flooding his body keeping him going. “I don’t care what you think they’re doing. But, since you’re in the mood for sharing, I’d like to know why you give one single fuck about it. You’ve got your little empire. You’ve got money, and influence. The police won’t touch you, and yet you’re risking it all to take on OsMiTech. Why?”
Growden didn’t answer.
Jack continued. “Why come on your own? Oh, you may have brought your pet telepath, but where’s the guys with muscle? You have enough on your payroll, surely.”
“Don’t bait me, Jack.”
“It looks like I’m about dead already, but before I check out, I want to know why a person who’s so paranoid about telepaths and OsMiTech would hire one. You chose badly with Indira. She’s stronger than you know. There’s a bunch of telepaths out there who’ve learnt to keep away from the system.”
“So what if there is? It all causes a problem for OsMiTech.” But Growden didn’t look convinced. He shook his head and Jack noticed that his grip shifted on the device in his hand. “I’m the one with telepath issues. If I’d have had my wits about you that night at the ATL meeting, you’d never have left alive. I’d have made you pay there and then.”
“Pay for what?” Jack’s head was aching. Whatever Growden was about to say, part of him was resisting. He didn’t want to hear it.
Growden’s smile dropped. “That night you interrupted my meeting by jumping up on stage—I scanned your retinal print. I thought I knew you even then, I’d studied your face for some time and there was something about you. You look a little different, and you’ve changed your name, but it’s you. I knew it—the retinal print confirmed it. You killed my brother Wesley. You held onto him at the top of a habitat block and then you let him fall sixty floors to the concrete beneath.”
Silence. Jack heard the words but his head just wasn’t able to make sense of them.
“What do you mean? How could I have killed your brother? You’re wrong.”
Growden shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re calling yourself Jack Winston, but that’s not who you are.”
Jack felt faint. The headache was far worse now. He wanted to run from the room and let Growden do whatever he liked. He could do it. No gun was being pointed at him. If the place was going to explode, he still might get out the unit before Growden detonated.
But Growden wasn’t done talking. “Look in the boxes.”
The invitation took Jack by surprise. “What? Why?”
“Do it. You think I’m mad but I’m not. I want you to see the truth for yourself.”
“No.”
“Goddammit. Do it, or I’ll squeeze this trigger and we’ll both die down here.”
Jack grabbed a memory box from the shelf.
“That’s right, any will do.”
“Now what?”
“Open it.”
There was a curious glint of excitement in Growden’s eye. Jack held the box before him. It was cold. The metal plaque on the front had a reference symbol inscribed. Carefully, he slid his thumb over the sliding lock mechanism and opened the box.
Empty.
The box was empty. No gel, no eyes.
A sickening, plummeting sensation hit Jack’s stomach. There was a mistake.
“This can’t be the room you think it is. These are waiting to be filled.”
“Take another.”
Jack replaced the box on the shelf and took one from a different rack, from the top shelf this time.
Empty.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Growden grinned. “But the box I’ve got here is registered as belonging to my brother. This should have his eye inside.” Growden opened the box so Jack could see the lack of contents. “But it’s empty.” Growden smashed the wooden box on the floor. Pieces skittered across the floor, hiding under the shelving units.
“There are some with their contents. I’ve been checking. About one in four have an eye inside. I don’t see any pattern in which ones have and which ones haven’t. But, according to my database, they should all have somebody’s eye inside.”
“So why don’t they?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. One thing’s clear though. They’ve been lying to us about this place for years.”
“But the workers upstairs. Booth worked in a lab preparing these. I saw the eyes up there.”
“I’m not even sure the workers knew what was happening here.”
“We need to tell someone.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure they get a message. Only not what they might be expecting.”
“You can’t blow this place up. It’s evidence. OsMiTech have been lying to us.”
Growden laughed. “I’m not going to blow it up. I’m burning it to the ground. There are still people’s body parts here. They deserve to be sent on to the next life with some dignity. Not left in this perpetual limbo.” He paused. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be the end. You could help me.”
Jack shook his head. “No.”
“You’re not even going to hear me out? I know you want that remnant surgery reversed. I know people who can make that happen. Maybe there’s an opening in my organisation for someone with your skills. We could bring down OsMiTech together.”
The idea floated around his mind for a couple of seconds. He was so tired now and so drained that he didn’t know what to make of Growden’s offer.
“Much as I don’t trust OsMiTech, I can’t let you do this.”
“Then I guess we’re both going to burn. I’m sorry, Wesley.” Then he squeezed the trigger.
Fireballs erupted at the edges of the room. The hidden incendiary devices that Growden had set up, spewed more fuel into the air that ignited as it travelled. It hit the memory boxes and burned. Jack spun around, confused by the sudden noise and heat, checking for an exit that wasn’t there anymore. And whilst he was checking for an exit, Growden made his move.
The man was much quicker for his size than Jack gave him credit for.
The heat was intense. Whichever way he turned, he was met with a wall of flame, dancing, encroaching on his safe area in the centre. Where the flame licked the memory boxes, they caught fire, lighting the unit in orange and red.
Growden lunged and grabbed Jack by the shoulders, flinging him back against the shelving. Jack yelled as the metal racks bit into the small of his back, smacking against his kidneys. Desperately, he reached to keep his attacker at bay, hands up around Growden’s throat.
They still had time to escape, but it had to be done quickly. The wood was burning slower than Jack had thought, spreading in from the centre in an ever-decreasing circle. But they only had minutes before they would never be able to find a way through.
> Growden struck under Jack’s ribs. Jack fell but kicked out at Growden’s knee as he went down. The larger man unbalanced and raised his arms to steady himself on the shelving, but his weight worked against him. He fell. On top of Jack. Crushing him.
Jack pushed away under him, but Growden wasn’t going to make it simple. He grabbed onto the telepath’s sleeve. Jack turned and wrestled his arm free of the jacket.
Something hard and metallic fell from the jacket to the floor.
They both looked at it. The bolt cutter. The distraction worked in Jack’s favour. He kicked out at his attacker, striking his face with a boot. Blood sprayed from Growden’s broken nose. He howled in anger, reaching up to his face in disbelief.
The lights went out. The emergency generators were on limited power, they must have finally given in. Growden rose before him, lit by the fires of his own making. King of his domain.
Jack scrambled, the heat from the fires making it difficult to focus on anything other than escape. The burning wood perfumed the air like incense, making his head spin. He got to his feet, keeping an eye on the bolt cutter, looking for his escape route. There was no way out—the fires had spread. Memory boxes were burning all around them, their safe circle was getting smaller and smaller. Jack wondered how quickly they’d run out of oxygen, then coughed.
“We can still get out of here, but we have to do it now!” he yelled over the noise of crackling wood.
Jack glanced up at the sprinklers. Nothing was working in this place anymore.
Growden had his gun in his hand, pointed at Jack. “Listen to them. Can you hear them?”
Jack couldn’t hear anything above the noise of the burning.
“You’re part of the system. And the system is broken. And now it’s time to finish this.” He was ready to shoot. Beads of sweat and blood ran down his face giving him a ghastly appearance.
Reaching out an arm, Jack flung one of the burning memory boxes at his attacker. The flaming mass struck Growden in the chest and he fell back, swiping at his burnt chest. It gave Jack a chance. He dove low, aiming for the man’s legs, and struck hard. Growden went off balance, and landed on his backside.
The fire had spread onto their aisle, speeding up as the heat intensified and the humidity dropped. Jack coughed, and bent low, gasping for a decent bit of clear air. He found what he was looking for and brought it to bear on Growden.
“What the hell is that?” Growden spluttered, just before a look of recognition flashed across his eyes.
“My way out.” And Jack shot the man in the chest. The blue pellets exploded on the man’s chest, Jack fired again and again, spreading the material around the man’s torso.
Growden got to his feet, the gun back in his hand. He looked terrible. Eyes wild.
“You’ve had your chance,” he said, raising his weapon to bear on Jack.
“No, I’ve one more.” Jack fired the secondary system and the red pellets embedded in the blue substance. As it had upstairs, the effect was quick. Growden didn’t quite realise what was happening until the substance bit into his arm. He dropped the gun, only concerned with his own survival now.
“What the hell—”
Jack watched. Scared by the thought of what was about to happen, but unable to tear his gaze away to anything else. In a second, Growden was screaming, trying to brush the rapidly spreading material from his body, but where it stuck to his hands, it spread too, consuming his flesh as effectively as it had on the door upstairs. Skin dissolved, revealing blood and muscle, then Growden was holding in front of him a skeletal hand, useless, and then that too fell away to dust.
The howling anguish echoed in the unit, drowning out even the sound of burning wood and crackling flame. Jack felt bile in his throat as the material wrapped around Growden’s body, eating through everything it touched, eating the man one layer at a time.
Growden writhed and stumbled, eventually his eyes locked on Jack’s and they were thunderous. He took a step towards him, the rage clear. Jack felt the wall of flame behind him and saw he had no way to run. Arms outstretched, the dissolving monster stumbled on, a terrifying grimace howling, but then it fell to the ground. Growden’s legs had gone. He reached out with his one remaining hand to stop him falling flat on the ground, but it had already consumed his arm. He was just a torso, and even that quickly went.
The monster fell apart in a pile of dust.
It was over.
But, Jack would die in this tomb as well unless he could get out of here before the fire consumed him. His safe zone had decreased to an area of only a few metres. The heat was intense, and he held an arm to his face to shield himself from the blaze. On his left, the rack of shelving was mostly untouched by fire. He had seconds perhaps until that too would be consumed by flame.
Knocking boxes aside, he climbed, using the shelving as a ladder. He clambered to the top of the rack, then once there he hesitated. He thought of rocking the unit, but it didn’t move under his weight—the whole thing was bolted to the floor.
The smoke was thicker now. Standing on the top shelf, his head almost touched the ceiling. But, there were no handholds to grab onto. Nothing he could use to carry himself away from the fire. There was only one thing available to him. After taking a short run-up, he leapt over the gap between his aisle and the next, heading for the entrance. Amazed he hadn’t tumbled, he continued, fire licking his heels, stumbling over the boxes on the top shelf. A foot caught the edge of one box already aflame and he knew he was on fire. But he didn’t stop—stopping meant giving in.
He leapt again off the final stack of boxes. The doorway ahead was open and clear with nothing flammable between the door and the first row of shelves.
Pain soared up his leg. He screamed as he leapt but falling short of the distance he needed to clear the fire obstacle completely, his body hit the floor, his legs in the fire.
Jack scrambled to his feet, and raced back into the main tunnel. He rolled on the ground, patting away at the flames on his trousers, then extinguished, he collapsed in the tunnel, listening to the fire roar in anger behind him.
Another few seconds and it would have been over. He wouldn’t have made it out. The thought of being roasted in that blaze...
New sounds could be heard. He looked up and saw torchlight hurrying towards him. Voices.
“You took your time,” he said as Burnfield appeared from the gloom, his foot in an emergency dressing, supported by a uniform Jack didn’t recognise.
The detective looked beyond the telepath and into the fiery unit. The embodiment of hell. “Is there anyone else? Where’s Growden?”
“He got caught in the blaze. There’s nothing left.”
Tuesday, 28 May 2115
8:40 AM
The wind was light, and the sun was setting when Jack finally got fed up of doctors and discharged himself from the hospital. Burnfield was waiting for him by the entrance.
“Need a lift?”
“How long have you been hanging around?”
“About ten minutes. The doctors gave me a call.”
Ah, never trust anyone. Especially not a doctor on the take from the local police force.
They walked out of the hospital together. The doctors had given him the once over and treated him for his burns. And once in there, did a scan of his damaged eye. They seemed pleased with the patch-up job they’d done. In a few days there would be nothing but freshly-healed skin. Adam had been in touch about refitting the artificial eye but Jack had a lot to consider before that.
It itched terribly.
The detective looked better too. Jack wondered whether all his cases involved such violence, but the man seemed to thrive on it. To some, the action was what it was all about. He realised he knew nothing about the detective’s background. Who was waiting for him back home? Who helped heal his wounds?
“Where can I take you?” Burnfield said, leading him to his car he’d parked over the double yellow lines, partially blocking the entrance drop-off zone
. An official in an orange jacket was hovering with a notebook, taking down details. Burnfield waved his police badge at him.
“Back to the station?” Jack suggested.
They buckled in and Burnfield drove out of the hospital complex and headed towards the town centre. “I thought you’d want to go home—finish packing.”
“I’ve changed my mind. About a few things.”
“How’s the eye?”
“The doctor said it was fine. No sign of damage to the remnant adaptations. I should be OK with it.”
He sat with his hands under his knees, trying not to think about the itching.
Jack waited for the inevitable objection over keeping hold of the eye. It wasn’t his. It belonged to the investigation into Booth’s death. OsMiTech needed it back. Only Burnfield said nothing of the sort; he was quiet. A dangerous sign in a man known to speak his mind.
“And what about Booth’s remnants? Can you still access them?”
“In flashes, when I concentrate.” He’d been experimenting and despite what he’d always been told, the remnants seemed as strong now as they did when Growden had first put the eye in his head. It was a curious sensation having someone else’s memories there, ready to be accessed.
“What’s his wife been told?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t need to know his eye is in your head.”
“No.”
“In other news, the forensics have finally been kicked out of the Anthology Storage Unit.”
“I’m surprised you managed to get them in there at all.”
“With all the initial clean-up, they didn’t get much chance. We were in there before OsMiTech could react. We’re in the process of rounding up the others in his organisation. He can’t have organised all of that on his own.”
“I don’t know. It seemed quite personal to him.” Jack thought about Growden’s accusations about Wesley, and how he claimed Jack had been responsible for his brother’s death. He was about to speak, but instead bit his lip. Now wasn’t the time.
“There’s something you should be aware of though,” Burnfield said cautiously. “We didn’t find Indira.”
The Remnant Vault (Tombs Rising Book 2) Page 18
