“I felt like the child lost in Lobos so many years ago. I told her what I’d done, but Mandy didn’t care. Her coldness, her ruthlessness, shocked me and it was like looking in a mirror. I leaned over the guardrails and threw up.
“Mandy says, ‘Listen, kid. Life off the tracks goes by in a blur, a careless and confusing blur. I’m your sister and this is your family. Remember that.’
“Mandy left me alone. And that’s when the truth really hit me.”
“What truth was that?” asked Albert.
“That my life on the locomotive was nothing more than an empty promise. Not worth killing for. Not worth dying for. That night, while the train passed over Karma’s east bridge, I jumped, leaving the life of the Iron Tribe.”
“You wanted to die, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. But fate is a funny thing. It’s kind after it’s cruel.” Luna took a calming breath. She felt drained. She looked to Jameson. “You want to take it from here?”
“I’d be happy too. So, I’m camping on the outskirts of Karma City, along a sandy riverbank. I’m gutting some trout I’d caught and I see a woman’s body floating down the river. I jump in and haul her to the shore. She’s still breathing, so I quickly laid her by my fire. When she wakes up, she’s really confused. Of course, my first thought is to be a gentleman.”
“You asked her if she was injured, right?”
“No. I offered her some trout.”
Luna laughed. “I asked him if he was the one who saved me and you know what he tells me?”
Albert shook his head.
“He says, ‘Yep. Now my boots are soaked. I hate that.’”
Albert chuckled. “And that’s how you two met, huh?”
Luna smiled and looked into Jameson’s eyes. “Fate was kind.”
Chapter 9
Late into the night, the Iron Tribe’s colossal locomotive clattered to a stop at Karma City’s Central Station along the waterfront. The pounding rain stirred the sea, sending black, toothy waves slamming against the wharf and piers, challenging the moorings of the ships along docks. The storm clouds swelled overhead, where thunder resounded like war drums conjuring tridents of lightning. The group stepped off the steaming train. Mandy Briggs handed each of them a black boarding card.
“For your respect to the Mother and your allegiance to Luna Briggs, I present you all with these Affiliate Tickets. You are now trusted allies of the Iron Tribe and may ride the rails as often as you require.”
Jameson tucked it in his pocket and turned up the collar on his leather coat to keep out the night’s chill. Rain soaked his brown hair, matting it against his face. This storm is going to challenge our plans.
Mandy put her hand on Luna’s shoulder. “Time for us to part again. This time, I want you to take this.” She handed her a small radio. “Should you ever need us, call and the train will come. Goodbye, Luna. Honor to you.”
Jameson flicked his cigarette to the tracks and led the group from the station toward the docks. He snaked his way through the waterfront’s cluster of tight roads; the group followed close behind. Streetlamps flickered with pale light, doing little to dispel the shadows painting the many warehouses and receiving bays. He entered the wharf where stacks of shipping containers formed metal walls as tall as houses. The wharf opened to Karma’s shipyard. There, dozens of ships, boats and vessels drifted, moored with heavy ropes and rusted chains against creaking docks.
Despite the heavy patter of the rain, an unnerving quiet settled over the area. Homeless people grouped aboard abandoned boats for shelter. Some peered out of the dark, crumbling shacks and storage sheds, eyes glinting like rats hiding in the shadows of back alleys. Jameson kept his shotgun in his hands. Place is crawling with Malady-heads. He noticed an abandoned boat house with a red handkerchief tied to the doorknob. Nice welcome sign, Kurt. Jameson held back the group and said just above a whisper, “Our red-coat friend seems to have left a light on for us.” He pointed to the handkerchief. “Let’s go in and find out if there’s any more information we need before we go boating.”
Jameson opened the boat house door and led the others inside. A long, black speed boat rested with its front bow facing the ocean. A small table waited with a single chair and lantern. Jameson lit the lantern and turned down the wick to keep a low light.
“Nice boat,” Luna remarked. “Looks fast.”
“Sure does. And our man, Kurt, seems to have stood us up.” He assessed the situation. This is one of those times when momentum matters. Keep the pace, move forward as planned until the first obstacle makes itself known as it always does. He eyed the group. They need direction. “Luna, have a look in the boat.” Jameson pulled the chair away from the table. “Albert, have a seat and work on the data from the Eden drive. I’m going to keep watch.” He moved near the single window facing the docks. “Good, no Malady-heads creeping around.”
Albert piped up, “The people infected with Malady are sick and suffering. Though they’re dealing with a serious parasitic infection, they’re still people.”
“You could put that sentiment on a poster and hang it in your medical center, doc, and I still wouldn’t believe it. Malady makes people into unpredictable lunatics. Some deal with it better than others, I’ll give you that; but for the most part, it turns your neighbor into a nutcase who would kill you just as easily as he would kill himself. I’ve seen it time and again.”
“You sound pretty crazy, Jameson. How do I know you don’t have a Stage Three infection?”
Jameson fell quiet. Luna said nothing.
Albert tilted his head and raised a brow. “Am I missing something here?
Jameson sighed and glanced to Luna. She nodded her approval of the words Jameson prepared to speak. “Listen, doc. I don’t usually bring this up, but it’s like this: I can’t catch Malady.”
“Well, you can put that on a poster and I wouldn’t believe it. It’s impossible. There’s never been anyone immune to Malady. Human beings are the parasite’s obligate host.”
“Believe it, doc. I can’t catch it. Don’t know how or why, but it’s the truth. My mother died from Malady and my father got it when I was a boy. Since then, I’ve lived my life in the Void Lands. Still not sick. I’ve even shared food and water with infected friends and trampled through alleys littered with bodies.”
Albert snorted in disbelief. “Hey Luna, are you listening to this?”
“He’s telling you the truth.”
“Jameson, let me highlight a very pertinent fact, if I may,” Albert’s tone was incredulous and mocking, “you would be the most important human being on the planet if what you say is true. And in not-so-clinical terms, I’d say you’ve just been really damn lucky out there in the Voids.”
“I’ll prove it.” Jameson rolled up his sleeve. “Go ahead. Take a sample of my blood. And after we get back from blowing up Graves’ party boat, you can analyze it, or do whatever it is you do, and you’ll see for yourself.”
Opening his satchel, Albert produced a needle, syringe and alcohol wipe. “If this is a joke,” said Albert. “I’m going to pull an equally jarring prank on you when you least expect it. I’m really good at pranks. Believe it.” Jameson offered his forearm and made a fist. Albert quickly drew a vial of blood from a vein and packed it away. “I have bandages. They have little clowns on them. Want one?”
“No.” Jameson rolled down his sleeve. “Get to work on the data.”
“Hey, Jameson,” Luna called. “Kurt left us a care package.”
Jameson crouched beside the boat. “What’ve you got?”
Luna lifted a wooden crate from under a seat and opened the lid. “Forty pounds of C-4 in one and a quarter pound blocks, two delayed timers, two detonators and a duffel bag for transport.”
“Kurt wasn’t kidding around. Set that in the right spot, those charges will blow the ship to pieces.” Jameson frowned. “I wonder why he isn’t here. Something must be wrong.” He looked over Albert. “How’s it going over there?”
“Success, Jameson. A veritable jackpot. Graves is, indeed, renting a warehouse from Gabriel. Building seven. But I’ve got a lot more on here than that.”
Jameson and Luna gathered around the table. Albert’s small computer screen threw a pale blue light on his face. He looked over his glasses and said, “Gabriel’s drug manufacturing operations are detailed here but he hasn’t been importing plants and chemicals from the Void Lands. He’s been trafficking people, captives it seems, by the look of this manifest.” He touched the screen, trailing the lines of data with his fingertip. “There are records naming settlements I’ve never heard of and totals of people taken. I’ve got individual names, too.” Albert made a few quick keystrokes. “People, some infected, others not, have been rounded up for Graves’ human testing for a long time. Twenty years by some of these time stamps. This is unreal!”
“Hold on a second,” interrupted Luna. “How could kidnappings occur for two decades with no one coming forward against it?”
“Good question, Luna.” Albert replied. “There are some valid reasons that may contribute to the success of this terrible endeavor. Malady infected people experience severe memory loss in early stages of the parasite’s life cycle. Then, deep anxiety in later stages making it impossible for them to understand or break free from what is happening.”
“Let’s not forget the Void Lands,” Jameson added. “There are too many settlements that remain unknown to most people in Karma City. Life out there is without rules and cultural norms. It’s survival and anarchy.”
Luna nodded her understanding. “One can’t care about what is unknown.”
“Right,” Jameson agreed. “Besides, who is there to speak of it? Nobody. I bet most of the test subjects are already dead.”
“He’s right,” Albert affirmed. “Many of Marcus Graves’ victims have perished as a result of his experiments. When I select a particular name, a dialog box opens detailing how many tests were performed and if the individual died.” Albert took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “This is heartbreaking.”
Jameson’s hands balled to fists. “I’m ready to shut this operation down.” He broke for the door.
“Wait,” Albert called.
“What is it, doc?”
“Was your father named Eric?”
Jameson’s skin turned to ice. “Yeah. Eric Shoals.”
Albert pointed to the computer screen. “He was taken twenty years ago by Graves Enterprises for early Malad-X testing.”
“How much testing?” Jameson’s voice cracked. He fought back the rising sadness, struggling to keep it from sinking him to his knees.
“It doesn’t say.”
“Is he dead?”
“Let me check.” Albert looked up from his glasses. “No.”
Jameson kicked open the boathouse door and ran into the rainy night. Luna chased him across the waterfront docks, catching him just before the lights around warehouse seven revealed them. She swung him around by the arm and pulled him behind a stack of shipping crates and pallets. They sat with their backs against the cover and caught their breath. Rain fell hard over them.
Jameson looked upward at the dark storm. Rain water ran over his face.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Luna urged. “You got a plan or are we just winging it as usual?”
“My father’s alive, Luna! That’s what I’m thinking. He might be in there. I have to know.”
“But we don’t need to rush into danger. Let’s do this smart.” Luna reached out and brushed the wet hair from his face. “We’re in this together.”
For a moment, the two just sat in the rain, huddled close to stay warm. The ocean stirred with the gusting wind, the rhythmical sound slowly restored Jameson’s focus. He let out a slow, calming breath and peered around the crates. “I’m going to sneak around the warehouse and find out what’s going on in there. Go back and keep Albert safe. Get the speed boat ready. I’ll meet you at the boathouse in ten minutes.”
“Be careful, Jameson.”
“Always.”
Jameson’s black leather coat concealed his presence. He took off his pack and hung it from the edge of the dock. Don’t need my gear slowing me down or making noise. I’ll grab it on the way back. Unencumbered and feeling lighter on his feet, he slipped to the side of the warehouse and hugged the wall. Strange noises carried over the water, coming from inside. He paused, listening to coughs, whimpers, bizarre shouting and senseless rambling. He heard sounds of struggling and objects being thrown. What the hell?
A single guard paced the boardwalk surrounding the warehouse. Jameson thought of subduing him, but refrained when a second guard came into view. He ducked behind a cluster of barrels and listened to the guards.
“We’ve been trying to contact the vessel for a half hour,” the approaching guard said. “Still no response.”
“Have you called Sable District to report?”
“No. Strict orders came in yesterday. No calls are to be placed from the warehouse to the district. We’re to go through Eden and Mr. Gabriel if we need anything.”
“What about Eden? Did you call them?”
“Yes. No answer there either.”
“Don’t worry about the vessel. I’m sure everything is fine. Look,” the guard pointed to the sea.
While they turned their attention to the water, Jameson scaled the ladder to the roof without making a sound.
“I can still see the lights from the vessel,” the guard said. “Our radios probably need service. The salty air ruins everything.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’m heading inside. The patients are getting rowdy. Don’t need anything else getting broken.”
Jameson traversed the rooftop and looked in through the skylight.
The warehouse wrapped around an empty boat slip; a strong crane arm hung over the dark water lapping against the interior pilings. This is a loading and unloading station He imagined that a very large boat could pull in and process its cargo easily here. Makes sense If Graves has operations on his ship, he’s using this place to support it. He moved his gaze to the surrounding wooden docks. Lining the vacant boat slip spread computer terminals, chemistry stations and intricate sets of laboratory equipment. A large metal cage at the far right of the room, much like an animal pen, contained two-dozen men and women in shackles. Their gaunt faces wore stains of dried blood and dark purple bruises. They huddled together, coughing, shaking and weeping. To the far left, another cage held fewer captives. These men and women, six in total, paced about anxiously. They looked stronger, in better health, and didn’t seem concerned with the bars around them.
Jameson counted twenty scientists in white lab coats and fifteen heavily armed Sable Guardsmen in black armor. With careful, silent hands, Jameson slid open one of the skylight panels to better observe the operation.
Lab technicians selected a battered, pleading prisoner from the cage. The prisoner, a man, shouted and begged. “No! Please! Don’t infect me!”
The guards said nothing. They took control of the man, beating him to submission, then strapped him to a surgical table in the center of the room. Like a swarm of wasps, the scientists fell over him. The man kicked and screamed as one of them performed an injection. The technicians kept him secured to the table for several long minutes, then drew a sample of his blood for analysis. The sample went to a scientist seated at a microscope.
“Confirmed,” said the scientist. “Malady parasite successfully introduced. Phase One completed. Proceed with phase two.”
The assisting guards forced the man off the table and dragged him to the opposing cage that housed the six other captives. They threw him inside, injured and defeated. The scientists surrounded the cage with notebooks and recording devices ready. The six captives attacked the man. They beat him unconscious and slammed around his limp body. In a primitive, bloody frenzy, they ripped him open. Swatches of flesh and ribbons of entrails splattered about. One wild captive stomped on the victim’s skull, crac
king it open. The scientists broke out in a round of applause and each set to work scribbling his notes.
One of the technicians questioned a scientist. “Have you found any inconsistencies?”
“Not yet. Patients injected with the Malady parasite are always killed by our six Malad-X patients.”
“This is exciting!”
“Indeed. But it’s going to be a long night of testing. We still have twenty-three more subjects to infect.”
I’ve seen enough.
He moved away from the skylight. The rain streamed down the sloping edges of the warehouse roof. His boots lost traction and he slipped, skidding fast toward the edge. His shotgun fumbled from his hand and clanged to the docks below.
A man in a red trench coat stepped from the surrounding darkness and picked up Jameson’s weapon. At first Jameson thought it was Kurt Auger, but when the man slowly craned his head to eye the rooftop, his glowing amber eyes revealed his identity.
With a silent leap, Gemni sprang to perch on the roof with Jameson, blocking his path to the ladder. His coat shimmered in the rain like blood. He held Jameson’s shotgun in his arms, cradling it as if it were a lost pet.
“That’s Kurt Auger’s coat,” Jameson stated, his voice a threat and a challenge wrapped together. “Let me guess, you made him into one of your crazy Malady puppets?”
Gemni made a mocking pout. “As much as I would have valued a man such as Mr. Auger among my family, I’m afraid he was without Malady and as such, beyond my control. He was Lesser. Rightly, I struck him in the chest and stopped his heart. He’s dead now, you see. They all are. Professor Crimm and his ‘Crimsons’ have been slain.” He adjusted the lapel of the red coat. “It is a rather inspiring garment. I destroyed the rest. But please don’t think me a thief, oh no. Couldn’t let it go to waste. I don’t steal, you see. In fact, this is your weapon, not mine. Here you are.” Gemni handed the shotgun to Jameson.
Karma City Page 11
