In Constant Fear

by Peter Liney

  I made my way over as quietly as I could, taking a bit of a detour to avoid any possibility of bumping into the guards. It was so uniformly black it took me forever to locate the tents, in fact, I was almost starting to think better of the idea when I heard muffled voices in front of me, obviously from inside a tent. I paused, wondering if I should go any closer, having no idea what I was up against.

  “When you’re ready?” I heard a voice say.

  Jeez, what the hell did that mean? Was something about to happen? I took a step back, then another, and realized someone had left one of the tents. Worse still, I immediately recognized that unmistakable slurping mechanical stride of Nora Jagger-style prosthetics. It was the Bodyguard, and it sounded like they were heading my way.

  I don’t know what I’d been hoping for by going over there . . . maybe an opportunity to do something at last, to strike a blow while I still could? But now all I wanted was to get away. Whether the Bitch was there or not, I didn’t know, but for sure the Bodyguard were, and I suspected in far greater numbers than I could cope with.

  I thought I was heading in the direction of the cut, but I was a long way from sure. My eyes were getting a little more used to the darkness and I could see that bit more, but it wasn’t helping much. Again I heard a voice, and this time it sounded like they were right behind me.

  I just ran toward, what I hoped was, the way I’d come, and almost simultaneously several things happened I could’ve well done without: firstly, the pulsing started radiating out toward the corner posts again and the ground beneath my feet began to glow. Then I saw the guys from the tent had actually passed me and were already over at the perimeter, and finally, and most unwelcome of all, the moment I started to run, to get the hell outta there, this siren started up as if I’d just triggered it.

  Amazingly for a dumb old big guy, I immediately had a pretty good idea what it was about: that pulse going through the ground? It wasn’t just creating security lighting but also some kinda cushion between the surface and what was underneath—a pressure pad like the one on the lawn of the Infinity building that triggered the growlers. This had to be a portable version that they carried with them and adjusted to whatever size they needed—they’d just switched it off so they could change the guard, and Jeez, what a shame it was I hadn’t worked out all that before.

  One of the guards immediately took out his laser and started shooting, but now that I knew where I was, I was already over the side and tripping, stumbling and occasionally falling down the slope toward the cut. The only thing was, the guard with prosthetic legs—I guess he must’ve been the one I’d heard earlier—was after me in an instant.

  It was like being pursued by some super-animal, something unknown that was a whole lot faster than you ever imagined an animal could be. Luckily for me, he might’ve been able to run a lot faster, but he had even less idea of where he was going. I kinda braked when I saw the cut open up before me, but he didn’t, flailing his arms around, trying to stop himself falling, and ending up taking us both down into darkness.

  It was a real confusion of body and limb, a struggle for dominance and survival. One second we were fighting, the next we were both clinging on to each other for dear life to prevent ourselves from falling faster than we were already. I hit him a couple of times—I mean, unless he managed to right himself, to bring those damn prosthetics into play, I was at no disadvantage. He did try kicking out, but we were still tumbling down the slope and somehow I was doing better than he was. I hit him again, a real hard shot to the face, and whether it stunned him for a moment or he didn’t see it in the dark, instead of trying to dodge a boulder looming up in front of us, he slammed straight into it, taking the major share of the impact.

  I reached under his body and grabbed his laser from its holster.

  “That’s enough,” I said, but you know, even with a laser pointed at him, that guy was still determined to fight on. He tried to swivel around, to lash out, but couldn’t get any real purchase on the loose and rocky ground and lost his balance again. Still he wouldn’t give up: he was up in an instant, taking another swing, and I realized that members of the Bitch’s Bodyguard simply weren’t programmed to surrender. I slammed him up against the boulder, his head colliding with a real whack, but you wouldn’t have known it. He was like a robot, nothing would divert him, and in the end I had no choice. I shot him through the head—but ya know what? He still came back at me. I had to shoot him three times at close quarters before he finally lay still.

  I struggled up and started to descend that cut as if it was the backstairs from Hell, slipping and tripping, bumping over boulders, threatening to do myself real harm. Even if I did make it to the bottom, I wasn’t confident I’d be able to find the tandem’s hiding place now that the moon had disappeared. I went on a bit further, actually fell over at one point, damn near breaking my leg, and eventually decided that there was no other choice; that I simply had to lie low for a while, at least until there was a hint of dawn’s light.

  There was a group of rocks nearby, surrounded by scrub; no one was gonna find me if I squeezed in there. The only thing was, the moment I did, that same heavy tiredness came back and no matter how hard I tried to repel it, sleep just wouldn’t be denied.

  It wasn’t the morning light that burst through the dark walls of my unconscious but a scream: a howl of outrage and anger, and one I immediately recognized. Instinctively I shrank further back into my hiding place, stifling a little moan. Please, God, no!

  “Find him!” a voice shrieked, and any small granule of hope I might’ve had immediately dissolved: it was Nora Jagger, all right, and going on how furious she was, someone had given her a description of me that she’d recognized.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted at someone, the muttered and unintelligible response sounding painfully contrite.

  “Look harder!” she screamed, rocks violently scattering, and I guessed she’d lashed out with one of those killer limbs.

  I raised my head as much as I dared and peered out of a slit between two rocks. All my worst fears were realized: there was a small group of them with the Bitch looking down from slightly up the slope, lashing them with her tongue, burning them with her eyes, ready to dish out punishment at the slightest provocation. Not one of them was daring to address her directly, no matter how brave they’d been programmed to be.

  “No one kills one of us!” she told them. “No one!”

  I don’t know why—maybe there was another group searching elsewhere she had to check on—but she turned abruptly and stormed back up the hill, pounding the ground so hard it was as if she was trying to crush it. The five members of the Bodyguard—four men and a woman—resumed their search in earnest, though thankfully they were working their way back to the place where the body of their comrade had obviously been discovered.

  Now that it was light I could see where I was, and damned if the tandem wasn’t no more than a coupla hundred yards away—if only I’d known that the previous night. Still, I reckoned if I could make it there, I had a every chance of getting away. I waited ’til I could see they were distracted—one of them had called the others over to the entrance of a small cave—then slipped out and began to tiptoe down the slope, being careful where I put my feet, wanting to run but scared I might disturb a rock or something.

  I guess I’d made almost half of that distance before the cry went up, but it wasn’t from one of the Bodyguard—Nora Jagger had returned.

  “You damn imbeciles!” she screamed, “look!”

  I started to run, doing my best to keep my balance on the steep slope and uneven ground, but immediately she was pounding after me, giving out this long, wild scream—God, she was angry.

  I reached the tandem, dragging it out of its hiding place before glancing back and seeing this wild apparition bearing down on me, her mouth set in a vicious snarl as if she was getting ready to bite my head off.

  I rode that crazy contraption as I’d never ridden it before
, constantly in danger of falling off, hearing those pounding footsteps getting ever closer, at any moment expecting that bolt-cutter grip to take hold of me and rip me from my saddle. Outta the corner of my eye I could see her shadow on the ground, chasing after mine, the gap between us narrowing with every one of her giant strides. I swerved this way and that to avoid rocks, time and time again almost losing my balance, only God himself knowing why I didn’t go hurtling to the ground.

  For a few moments I seemed to be holding the distance, then she made her move, leaping at me, those incredible legs propelling her though the air, and I felt her fingers rake down my back, almost get a hold—but it was her last despairing effort and with it she fell to the ground and was forced to give up.

  “Clancy! Clancy—!” she screamed after me, but I kept going, the cut finally leveling off and allowing me to ride like I might stay in the saddle for more than a few seconds.

  “Clancy!” she roared one last time, but I was gone.

  I couldn’t help myself, for a few moments I roared with laughter. After all the sneers and jokes about the Typhoon Tandem, it had turned out to be one of the fastest forms of transport in the valley, certainly when it came to traveling cross-country. Wouldn’t Jimmy just love that? For that matter, so did I.

  Whether it was all that hard pedaling, the ordeal, or something way more sinister, I didn’t know, but not long after the relief of knowing I was safe, that familiar dense tiredness began to ooze its way back through me. I did my best to keep going, to shake it off, singing and shouting, repeatedly slapping my face, doing everything I could—but in the end I had no choice but to give in.

  I went into the forest, feeling a bit like I had a fever, that a battle was starting to rage inside me. In the end I just collapsed into some thick undergrowth, letting the tandem fall to the ground, praying to God Nora Jagger didn’t come after me.

  Within seconds I was asleep, and almost as if she’d triggered that implant to do what she couldn’t, she was there. I was driving Mr. Meltoni’s limo and somehow my tiredness in real life had carried over into my dream. The person in the back was massaging my shoulders. I thought it was Mr. Meltoni himself—tell the truth, I was a little uncomfortable about it. Then suddenly these huge arms snaked around and took a firm hold of my throat: the Bitch was panting like a bull on the back of my neck, squeezing and squeezing, out to decapitate me for sure. I hit the brakes, veered over to the side and bounced off a parked truck as I tried to break the grip of those locked hands, but I knew that, like everyone else, I didn’t stand a chance.

  I lost consciousness and woke up at the same time; feeling so invaded. That woman was everywhere: in my dreams, my head, my body. I forced myself up to my feet, still so dazed I was rocking back and forth, only then appreciating how long I’d been out, that the day was almost over.

  I had to clear my head and mount the tandem; get back to the farm and warn the others she was on her way.

  I arrived just after dark, still feeling so tired it was almost a sickness. Through the window I could see Gordie and Hanna preparing dinner, just the top of Jimmy’s almost bald head appearing over an easy chair. I scribbled another note and left it in the usual can:

  Nora Jagger’s nearby. Don’t let her know anyone’s living here. Stay inside—no fires, no lights.

  Then I shook the wire and hurried off over to the woods, several of them emerging almost before I’d hidden myself.

  I waited to make sure they did what I’d suggested—turning off all the lights, reducing the house to darkness—so distracted that at first I didn’t notice it was happening again, that amongst my many thoughts there was the occasional agitator.

  Why the hell did I worry about these people all the time? They’d had their chance and hadn’t been savvy enough to take it. Now they were doomed to obsolescence—and honestly, I reckon I’d be doing them a favor if I went over there and put an end to their miserable lives. Gordie first, just inside the door—he’d never know what’d hit him. Nick and Miriam were dying of broken hearts anyway; it’d be a kindness. Gigi and Hanna might be a problem, but they both slept so deeply, I reckoned I could take out one without waking the other. Then the old couple, who should’ve been put out of their misery long ago: one good hard blow to the little guy’s bald head, and if that didn’t do it, I could finish him off by choking him with that stupid ponytail of his. As for Delilah, well, that’d be no more than snapping an old dead twig.

  I don’t know when exactly, but somewhere amongst all those terrible thoughts, I slid down the tree trunk I was leaning against and ended up on the ground. No, I hadn’t forgotten Lena and Thomas, and that was the whole point: they were the ultimate test. Until I started thinking up ways of killing them, I reckoned there was hope, but I had to keep them right at the forefront of my mind, to hold them up like some burning torch. As long as I did that, I felt I had a chance of keeping up the fight, resisting everything including being keyed.

  But ya know, no matter how determined I was, something about that didn’t ring quite true. That Shadow-Maker thing, whatever it was, had caught me on open ground; held me down and appeared to go right through me—I’d been completely at its mercy. Not to mention how weak I’d been feeling, tired almost to the point of sickness . . . was I really putting up such a great fight?

  I didn’t so much fall asleep as tumble over and over ’til I collided with something harder than my head, all the while that thought nagging away inside me: was I really making it impossible for them to take control? Or was there something else going on?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I don’t know how long I slept, but going on how I felt when I woke up, ample time for eternity to have trampled over my bones. On the other hand, it was still night and the farmhouse looked pretty much the same—no lights, no smoke—so maybe it’d only been a few hours.

  Thank God, they’d heeded my warning. There were so many abandoned buildings in the valley and so spread out, it would take Nora Jagger forever to check them all out on foot. The last thing we needed was to give her any kinda clue.

  And that was another thing I didn’t understand: why the hell was she on foot? Okay, so maybe it was too far out for a Dragonfly, but they must have plenty of all-terrain vehicles. I was worried it might have something to do with the Doc—maybe he’d tipped her off where we were, that that was the way we traveled back and forth to the City and she’d come over the mountain to make sure that route was closed off? Didn’t seem that likely, I know, but on the other hand, the fact that we’d now trust him not to do something like that seemed even less likely.

  I scanned the mountains from one end to the other, not sure which way the Bitch and her Bodyguards would’ve gone. If they had that pressure-field up and working every night, they had to be some way off, ’cuz I couldn’t see it anywhere.

  I was just wondering what I should do, whether I should go out again and try to locate them, when a light came on in the farmhouse. It was only for a second or two, then it was switched off—I thought someone must’ve forgotten and accidentally put it on—but it was switched on again, then off, then on once more. Jesus, was somebody signaling?

  I started to trot over to the house, feeling utterly confused—that was Hanna and Gigi’s room, so what the hell were they playing at? But ya know, I hadn’t even got across there before I began to get this really bad feeling, a suspicion that I should’ve known this day would come and I’d been a fool not to have done something about it.

  I’d always been fond of Gigi—okay, maybe with slight reservations, but the thing is, I learned long ago that the best way of making someone trustworthy is simply by trusting them. By and large that’s served me pretty well. That time in the limo, on the way to the City, when she finally told me what’d happened with her and Nora Jagger—about the resistance, and how she’d got caught between the two of them—I hadn’t been in the least bit surprised. Gigi was just one of those people: she could turn just like that and no one, least of all her, knew why, what
the fault was inside her that made her do it. I believed her that day—that she’d learned from the experience—I guess ’cuz I’d wanted to, but I’d still had my suspicions. Gigi had to be taken at face value at any precise moment in time, ’cuz a couple of minutes later the wind might easily change and there’d be nothing she could do about it.

  There was no way Hanna would flick those lights on and off, and no way she’d be there and let Gigi do it, which meant she wasn’t in the room. And if she wasn’t in the room, where was she?

  It was like a time bomb with a very long fuse. I knew it’d been there, I’d known there was every chance it might blow up one day, and I should’ve made it safe. I’d seen the way Gigi got irrationally angry if Hanna and Gordie so much as hinted at their feelings for each other. The discovery that Hanna had snuck off to be with Gordie in the middle of the night—and what they were probably doing—well, I reckoned that would just about have driven her beyond all logical thinking. Which was probably why she’d decided to bring the wrath of the gods down on everyone by letting Nora Jagger know where we were. No matter that she was in the Bitch’s bad books—that she’d once attempted to kill her and was placing herself in terrible danger—in her mood that wasn’t even a consideration; all she wanted was instant and bloody revenge on Hanna and Gordie, everything else would merely be collateral damage.

  As I neared the farmhouse I grabbed every wire that would make a noise and rang them all, sounding the loudest general alarm I could. The light in the bedroom went off again and this time it didn’t come back on. I could hear panic inside, people running around, the odd shout, and I turned and got away from there as quickly as I could, so aware of that thing inside me, that that sliver of the Bitch’s heart was darkening by the moment.

  I almost made it back to the trees when I spotted some lights: maybe half a dozen or so, coming over one of the rises that led up to the mountains, and by the look of them, heading in our direction. Shit! They’d been camped there all the time. Maybe they’d decided not to operate the pressure field, that on this occasion it’d be better to remain secret than protected?