“The risk of infection is moderate to severe down here,” professed Albert. “I have gloves and masks if you’d like.”
“I don’t worry about Malady,” stated Jameson matter-of-factly.
“I know you’re not infected, but why so careless?”
“Not sure why you’re following us.”
“The man you’re after, I’ve seen that man at medical conferences. He’s one of Dr. Marcus Graves’ lead researchers. Elliot Burroughs. He had some kind of influence on the Malady infected at Oasis. Scientifically speaking, this could lead to some profound discoveries. What’s your interest in him?”
“He blew up the train,” Luna added. “Even though I’m former Iron Tribe, I can’t let him get away with that.”
“I suspected you were a tribeswoman from the burn scars on your face,” attested Albert.
Though the degradation in society perpetuated by the Malady parasite crippled advancements in industry and commerce, coal mining prevailed in the mountains and parts beyond Karma City, producing abundant fuel for steam engines and thermal power plants. As a result, the railroad had become the people’s last lifeline. Two 4-8-4 steam locomotives, antiquated yet reliable engines, wheeled along cardinal tracks transporting people, medicine and goods back and forth from Karma, Rime, Lobos and many other unnamed stops in the endless Void Lands. The masters of these locomotives were the rifle-bearing men and women sworn to a life on the tracks— the cold-hearted, Iron Tribe. For them, nothing mattered more than the preservation of the monstrous “Mother Train” and her vast railway that carved the city and the lands beyond.
Though the Iron Tribe paid little attention to the affairs of the world beyond the tracks, they understood the value of the people as it related to their lifestyle. One only needed a ticket to board and the tribal guards would lower their weapons. Attacking the train or rails, however, meant death. Luna Briggs felt the old pride of the railway ignite her desire to bring the glowing-eyed man down for his crimes.
“What about you, Jameson?” asked Albert. “Why are you chasing this guy?”
Jameson ducked to avoid a low hanging pipe. “Not only did he almost kill us on the train, but that asshole ruined my chance at the Oasis records.” He aimed his light so the others could avoid the pipe.
“Whose records were you looking for?”
“My dad’s. Hold it...” Jameson put up his hand and stopped their trek. “I hear voices ahead.”
Following the drain tunnel, they discovered a domed catacomb serving as an intersection for the various drainage channels of the city. Pipes, valves, and iron ladders lined the room. A group of homeless people huddled within the orange circle of a crackling trashcan fire, coughing and twitching. The scent of urine and body odor soured Jameson’s nose. Despite the stench, other indicators warned of greater danger. Life in the Void Lands had given him the skill to spot the parasite in others. Malady revealed itself to Jameson in a number of ways: a haze in the eyes, hanging lower lip, a bouncing eyelid, fidgeting hands, nervous feet and jumpy knees. The worst was the boiling, blood-shot eyes that foretold violence. He pointed his flashlight at the group. The caged animal stare glared back at him. They’re all infected.
Jameson warned Luna and Albert. “Those people are dangerous. Malady.”
Luna stepped forward, calling out, “Hey! Any of you see a guy with blond hair come this way?”
A weathered old woman in a tattered gray mantle swayed over the fire, rubbing her hands near the flames. “Stop shouting, girl!” she croaked. “I hate your irritating echo.”
“Answer the question and we’ll be on our way,” ordered Luna.
The hunch-backed woman slinked closer. She looked like a witch with snakes of hair clinging to her greasy, sallow skin. “Why should I answer you?” Her finger pointed like a threatening dagger of bone. “Leave me alone or you’ll be sorry.”
Jameson rolled his eyes and drew his shotgun. “Last chance, bitch.”
Albert shuffled forward, waving for Jameson to lower his weapon. “Let me handle this,” he pleaded.
“You’re unarmed, doc.”
“There’s a better way.” Albert addressed the woman. “Hello, ma’am. I’m a doctor and I notice that you’re quite sick.” He knelt down and opened his medical bag to reveal a small brown vial. “I’ve got some Quell. Trade you for a little information?”
Her eyes widened. “Quell, you say?” The others around the fire murmured in excitement.
“Yes. With the Graves Enterprises tamper seal intact. This is an un-opened, two-week supply. There’s enough here to make you all feel better.”
She hobbled over to Albert, who took a step back. “With all due respect, ma’am, that’s close enough. I’m not infected, but I’d still like to help you.” He placed the pill bottle on the ground and rolled it to her. She pounced for it and pried open the cap with her teeth. Albert pressed, “Your turn to help me. Did you see the man we’re looking for?”
“Yes.”
“Did he go up to the street?”
“No.” She sat down and poured the small pills into her dirty palm. Her tree bark lips cracked when she sang, “Down, down to Undertown, where everyone is sick. Down, down to Undertown, the parasitic trick!” The old woman broke into a cackle. The others from around the fire swarmed her like hungry dogs, clamoring for the one medication that would relieve their suffering.
Jameson tugged Albert back. “Nice work,” he said. “She probably would have jumped us and I would have had to shoot her. You might be handy to have around after all.”
Albert pushed up his glasses. “There’s always a better way, Jameson. And it’s what makes us better people.”
Jameson lit the dark throat of the tunnel with his flashlight. “Let’s move.”
The passage to Undertown sloped downward; the current of water flowing over the toes of Jameson’s boots. As the group ventured below the surface of Karma City, the glow of artificial lights intensified, illuminating the entire passage. The dreary resonances of the drain system stirred to a clamor of shouts, laughter and jeers as they drew near the subterranean community. Jameson stopped short as the tunnel came to an abrupt end. The line of water he followed poured over the edge, raining down to a basin nearly thirty feet below. A vast stone chamber opened before him.
Undertown, a thriving city beneath the city, rooted itself around Karma’s central subway station. The commuter trains rumbled the dozens of halls, tunnels and antechambers that stemmed from the station. Sparks sprayed from the electrified rails, parting the blackness of the tunnels. Leaning over the edge, Jameson found an iron ladder mounted to the stone wall. He signaled the others to follow.
After a slow descent, the three crossed a walkway spanning a drainage canal and entered the main thoroughfare. Businesses lined the common way. Workshops, salvage dealers, drug dens, brothels, gambling halls and hostels all advertised their services with bright signage and taunting workers. Jameson eyed a large mural painted over the damp brick wall. A depiction of Dr. Marcus Graves, founder of Graves Enterprises, stared back at passersby. His midnight black hair combed back above his flat forehead. The sharp nose, boney jaw and gull-white skin rendered thoughts of skeletons and vampires. The mural celebrated Dr. Graves with looping lettering framing the portrait, reading: Peace in the Mind—the Father of Quell.
“Outta the way, loser!” shouted a young man from behind.
Jameson side-stepped, quickly dodging the kid as he whizzed by on a skateboard. Jameson’s temper flared and even though his nomadic life had taken him through plenty of strange settlements in the Void Lands, he struggled to understand what would tempt people to live like rats in a world of sewers and subways. Undertown’s filth seemed immeasurable. Men and women enjoyed one another in dark alleys, while addicts indulged under the flickering light of the suspended lamps. The smell of human waste and mold permeated from the gutters.
Weaving through the crowds, Jameson and Luna asked the denizens of Undertown if any had seen the m
an they hunted. No one offered any information.
“This place is revolting.” Jameson covered his nose with his shirt collar.
“I hear the Void Lands aren’t very pleasant, either,” stated Albert.
“At least there’s open air out there. I feel like I’m walking in a giant toilet bowl.”
“It’s not so bad,” replied Albert. “My new medical practice isn’t far.”
“You set up shop down here?”
“That’s right. I opened for business not long ago and I just completed the assembly of the DNA sequencer I purchased from Oasis. It’s marvelous and if you’d like to see it, I’d be—”
“First,” interrupted Jameson, “tell me why you think it’s a good idea to work in the Malady infested bowls of Karma City.”
“I figure the best way to combat Malady is to surround myself with it.”
Jameson gave a short laugh. “I get it. You were going to quit back at Oasis before all hell broke out. You’ve become a disgruntled thief and you only stuck around long enough to acquire the tech you needed for your lab. Am I right?”
“That about sums it up. But hold on a second, take a look around. This is a true parasite breeding ground. Everyone living beneath the streets of Karma City is infected and nearly all of them are Quell addicts. The world above can’t care for them, treat them or be bothered to offer any empathy at all. There’s no brotherhood of man in Karma City. If you’re not infected, you shun those who are. If you are infected, you try to hide it, cope, or refuse to accept it. Time runs out for people above. And when it does, Undertown greets them with open arms. It's where they find me, ready to offer the care they can’t get up there.”
“You’re nuts, doc. Have you had yourself tested for Malady?”
“I’ve been inoculated with the Victory Vaccine. That’ll give me a full year to complete my work down here without risk of infection.”
“I’m still not sold on your choice of real estate.”
“One thing is certain,” Albert professed, “there will never be a shortage of patients. Which presents countless opportunities for me test my theory.”
“Fine, I’ll bite. What is this theory of yours?” Jameson asked.
Albert fanned his hands in the air as if reading a billboard. “Malady-born.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I believe that the ASAM team and the scientists at Graves Enterprises have been unsuccessful in discovering a cure for Malady because they’ve been looking in the wrong place. The answer to finding a cure is not here in Karma City among its infected; it can’t be. Malady thrives in Karma. Scientific efforts must branch out to the Void Lands and focus on the people who are born out there, born from infected people.”
“I don’t get it.”
Albert raised a finger to accentuate his words. “What genetic information is hiding in the DNA of a baby conceived in a Malady infected woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly, no one does. My theory of ‘Malady-born’ proposes that there may be a genetic link occurring in the genome. Imagine a gene that is both parasite and human. If this Malady- born gene exists, I believe it can be the foundation for a cure.”
“And how would this cure work?”
Albert paused and admitted, “I’m not there yet.”
“Then why aren’t you going on a trip across the Void Lands doing blood tests on kids?”
“It’s not that easy. I don’t think entering a hostile village and knocking on doors with needles will go over well. I’m safer down here, in Undertown. And I’m making progress. I’ve found that rodents and other paratenic hosts infected with the parasite sometimes produce offspring that resist Malady infection. And I bet the same thing is happening now, in people. It’s groundbreaking stuff, Jameson.”
“Okay, so you’re hanging with Malady-heads and addicts in Karma’s sewer-world and performing genetic testing on baby rats all in the hopes of saving humanity?”
Albert asked Luna, “Is he always such a jerk?”
Luna shrugged and fought the urge to laugh.
“Is this what you told the Oasis staff?” Jameson asked.
“Yes.”
Jameson chuckled. “I see why you don’t fit in.”
“I’ll tell you why I don’t fit in, Jameson,” Albert’s face reddened. “Unlike the scientists of Oasis Hospital and Graves Enterprises, I have the gumption and courage to breach the boundaries of modern medicine to uncover the treatments these people so desperately yearn for. I, in so short a time, have become a practitioner of forward thinking, a scientific vanguard, a medical pioneer!”
Jameson glanced at Luna, who rolled her eyes. “Since you’re so forward thinking,” Jameson challenged, “answer me this, if you were a nut-job with glowing eyes that makes infected people go berserk, what would you be doing in Undertown?”
Albert waved a mocking hand. “Simple. I’d be trying to catch a commuter to gain as much distance between myself and those hunting me with guns.”
Jameson grinned and slapped Albert on the shoulder. “That’s it! Where’s the next subway train leaving from?”
“Let’s see...” Albert rubbed his shoulder and checked his watch. “Morning commute is running. Almost eight-thirty; the next outbound is leaving from Aces Wild Rock Club.”
“Perfect. Lead the way.”
Albert’s brow dipped in worry. “Did you say glowing eyes?”
Chapter 3
The stage fog and cigarette smoke melded to a purple haze over the crowd. Guest tables lined the large dance floor, where the rebellious and wild youth of Undertown stomped and fist-pumped to the electric music blaring from stacked speaker cabinets.
Jameson and Albert leaned against the bar while Luna took position further into the room. Jameson scanned the mosaic of people, searching for their evader. Albert’s nerves made him fidget and ramble. “Based on what we’ve witnessed in Oasis Hospital,” said Albert, “it’s appropriate to assume that we’re in a great amount of danger right now. Almost everyone in this establishment is infected with Malady. The man we’re after seems to spark violence in the infected. The infected attack the uninfected. My surmounting concern stems largely from our present—”
“Shut up.” Jameson cut off Albert, seeing Luna’s hand signal. “Wait here and keep watch.” Brushing passed Albert, Jameson cut through the crowd, joining Luna at the far wall.
Luna pointed to a row of cocktail tables lining the dance floor. “That’s him. Second table from the left.”
“How’s your line of fire? Can you take his head off his shoulders right now?”
“For sure, and normally, I’d go for it. But twice we’ve attempted to shoot him down, and twice we’ve failed.”
“Don’t tell me you want to talk to him.”
Luna smiled. “I don’t. I want you to. Try it Albert’s way. If that fails, I’ll blow his head off.”
“Deal.”
As Jameson approached the man’s table, he assessed his adversary by looking for unusual body contours or bulges under the clothing—indicators that might warn of hidden weapons or explosives. The man wore a long black coat that Jameson now recognized as a lab coat with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His white collared shirt and black slacks were tattered and stained with droplets of blood. Jameson leaned on the table. “Mind if I join you?”
The man’s eyes met Jameson’s with an unflinching stare. He motioned for Jameson to sit across from him. For a long minute, the two men said nothing. They stared at one another like two boxers resting in their respective corners between rounds. The man broke the tension.
“I find it amusing that you’ve followed me,” he said. “Though, I must insist that you make this confrontation quick, you see.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Jameson smugly. “Got another train to bomb? Or maybe you’re off to start another riot.”
“Your interruption in my affairs will lead to dire conse
quences.”
“It very well might.” Jameson pointed to Luna, who waited behind the man.
Luna pressed her rifle’s muzzle to the back of the man’s head. “You’re out-numbered,” she said. “And I can’t miss this time.”
“Out-numbered?” The man laughed. “I could turn this nightclub on you with a single thought. They’d rip into you like ravenous wolves.”
Jameson pretended not to hear the dark threat. “Who are you?”
“The easy answer is, you’re looking at Elliot Burroughs.”
“Why did you blow up the train?”
“To destroy the Lessers.”
“The what?”
A sudden scream from a nearby club guest interrupted the confrontation. “Somebody help! That woman’s gonna murder that man! Stop her!”
A large man leapt behind Luna and wrapped his arms around her chest, pulling her away from Burroughs.
Burroughs’ eyes flashed with orange light. “Looks like we’re done here.” He overturned the table, sending it crashing atop Jameson, then darted into the crowd.
Jameson shoved away the toppled furniture, drew his shotgun and fought the man off of Luna, knocking him hard in the face with the gunstock. The man dropped to the floor, blood flowing in black streams from his crushed nose. Albert rejoined Jameson.
“Saw the whole thing,” declared Albert. “Burroughs is heading toward the back exit, to the subway dock.
The crowd of club-goers broke into a panic at the sight of Jameson and Luna standing with firearms drawn. They peeled away in fear, allowing Jameson a path to pursue Burroughs. He waved for Albert and Luna to follow. The three ran through the panicked mob and pushed past the exit door, stepping into the subway corridor.
Karma City Page 3
