by Tam MacNeil
“I’m gonna take off,” Mad says. “Simone texted to say Sean’s in the big bedroom. He’s still sedated. Simone wants him to stay quiet for a bit.” She waggles her phone at him. He can see the bubbles of conversation on the glassy screen. “He’s coming along, but-” she points to the screen and then looks at him with a frown. “Wait, do you read?”
He nods.
She points to the screen again and lets him read it himself.
Simone: If I have to come up and sort him out again I'll be most unhappy about it. Make sure he gets 8 hrs. 8 HOURS.
“And coming from Simone, them’s fighting words.”
He nods. “I understand,” he says, then he smiles again. It used to be difficult and feel strange, but it’s easier now. He likes Mad. “Thank you. For everything. I…” I owe you. I’ll make it up to you. He hesitates, stops. Looks at her. “I’m not going to say it,” he says. She grins like she’s just won something.
“Good,” she says. “I don’t think I want to hear it.” She waves and turns and goes and it’s up to him to close the door behind her.
Then goes to the big bedroom. Sean’s not lying on his back, hospital-style, any more. Now he’s rolled over to his side, and his pillow’s slipped out from under his head, and his arm is doing the job instead. Alex slides down beside him. There’s enough space on the bed for two, now Sean’s all curled up. He gets as close as he can, body flush against body, one arm under his own head and the other over Sean’s hip. Sean makes a little noise and falls silent again. Alex doesn’t move. He could be like this forever, fed, and warm, and lying here with Sean. That would be fine.
When Sean wakes, he’s in his own bed, and Alex is beside him and he has a moment of intense disorientation. Then he realizes the light coming through the windows is wrong. It’s dawn, and the apartment ought to be flooded, but instead it’s a soft light, reflected back from windows and streets. He’s on the shady side of the building. Which means the attack, the explosion, the falling concrete, the tearing dust in his lungs the breathtaking pain in his chest and his arm, all of it was real.
“Hey.” Alex’s voice is soft in his ear, a whisper, a test.
“I’m awake,” he whispers back. His mouth tastes like something puked in it. His lips are coated with slime. “What happened?”
“Explosion,” Alex says. “I think maybe Chen had some kind of device with her. You got buried. Rak and I dug you out.”
He remembers in a rush. The crushing embrace of falling concrete, the agony in his ribs. He tries not to think about it, but he’s a little afraid to move.
“Simone looked after you.”
He nods. It’s the only reason he’s not lying in VGH right now with a million machines hooked up to him, or in a fridge. He remembers realizing something had gone through him, and that he was going to have to cough because there was something in his lungs, but knowing that coughing would be awful. Only Simone could fix that kind of damage so fast.
He turns his head to look at Alex. His face is still scored where his nails dug against the pilot’s mask, but he doesn’t look haggard like he did. He actually looks rested, his hair all screwed up from sleeping, sheet-creases marking up his scarred-up skin.
“You get hurt?” he asks.
Alex shakes his head. “Rak and Mad looked after me,” he says. “While you were out.”
He feels a relief that surprises him. Alex’s voice sounds better than it has in a long time. Like he’s been using it for more than one-word answers. He touches the scarred face above him and Alex rests his head a little against Sean’s palm. Something tight unknots a little in Sean’s chest. Oh thank god, he thinks. He hadn’t realized how sure he’d been that Alex would be gone when it was all over, that either they’d take him, or kill him, or worse he’d shut down completely, go away completely, and Sean would never get him back, not even the little that he’s got now.
“I’m glad you’re ok,” he says. Alex smiles. “What do you think of Mad?”
Alex nods. “She’s smart. And… I think she gets it, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says. He thought that too, that first day when he was sitting opposite Mad in the hotel cafe, and she was reading everything he did and feeding it right back to him. Unnerving. But he’s used to it now, and maybe even likes how Mad just knows sometimes, just knows he needs to be alone or to be distracted, and steps up. “I think she does.”
Alex sits back, the bed dipping when his weight rolls back on it. “Simone wants you to rest.”
“If I stay here I’m gonna die of boredom,” Sean says. He tests his core muscles by sitting up just a little. Everything is weak and tired and nothing wants to hold him, but the pain is the pain of stiff muscles, not of holes punched through them.
He pushes himself upright with his hands, just to baby himself a little. Alex gives him a hand, helps him up out of bed, lets him lean on him all the way to the bathroom and then vanishes into the kitchen while Sean takes a piss and checks the marks on his chest and his belly. Purple, swollen and sore. He winces at even the lightest touch, so he stops touching and goes out to the living room, moving like an old man, and sags down on the couch.
There’s not much in the place. The pizza and the pop and all the groceries that Sean bought the other day are all under a heap of rubble in the other apartment. Alex goes poking through cupboards and finds a box of crackers that aren’t too stale to eat, and some tea that was so crappy the last occupant of the apartment left it behind. He plugs in the kettle and makes the tea, pours some of the stale crackers into a bowl and takes everything over to the couch where Sean is leaning against the cushions with his eyes closed tight.
“Sorry,” Alex says. “There’s not much to eat, but you should probably have something.”
He puts the bowl and the cup down. Sean cracks one eye and looks at the tea and then at him. “That smells like wood chips,” he says. Alex shrugs.
“It’s 'Restful Rosehip'.” He says, like that’s going to change how it smells. He looks down at Sean. “It’s hippy crap. You’ll love it.”
That makes Sean grin.
Alex keeps his face deadpan. “Drink it, you asshole. I’m looking after you. I expect you to be grateful.”
Sean’s smile gets bigger. He grunts, leans forward and takes the cup of tea.
“Thanks.” He blows the steam off it and sips. “Jesus, that’s gross.”
Alex opens his mouth to say something caustic and then he’s forgotten everything, because there’s a noise in his head and it’s familiar in the way that nothing is familiar any more.
The old one is singing, a huge, subsonic noise, felt rather than heard, and the song is for him.
“Alex?” Sean asks.
“No, it’s fine,” he says, because he has to say something, but he didn’t really hear the question. He goes out onto the balcony, looking for the old one, trying to get closer to it. The world shakes around him like there’s an earthquake, like it might get shaken apart. He’s aware that Sean’s talking to him, and following him, but he doesn’t care about that, not really.
The air is cool and damp and the sky is grey threaded with pink. He grips the balcony rail, startlingly cold, and starts to pull himself up but something stops him. He looks back. It’s Sean, his hands fisted in Alex’s shirt and the waistband of his pants. His eyes are wide, mouth open, saying No! all that fear and concern plain on his face.
“The old one’s calling. Can’t you hear it?”
Sean doesn’t care. He’s hauling him back, and Alex twists to get away but Sean was always the stronger of the two of them, and Alex is so wasted now he can’t fight, not really.
“There’s nothing. There’s no shinigami.” Sean's voice is breaking like glass and Alex remembers he’s injured, badly injured, and this is going to put his healing back, Simone said eight hours of rest and they’ve probably only managed four.
“Let go, Sean,” he says. Stitches are going to tear, wounds reopen. He’s hurting himself. “Let go.”
“No. Your head’s not right, babe, you gotta come down. You gotta come down from there.”
That’s when the rumble hits him again and he loses sight of Sean and the balcony and everything, and if Sean wasn’t holding him he would probably go over. When they come, darkness erupts in the middle of the street and jets upward like oil gushing. He sees the white flash of the eye surfaces for an instant and vanishes and then comes rolling back to face him.
The one who is free, the old one says and the voice in his head is the voice of an old friend.
He smiles, all relief and joy. I am here, he tells it.
He feels the misery and the pain, the fear and loneliness, feelings that he knows in his bones but had been learning to forget. He feels the straps and the cage again. He feels the smothering of the comms in his mouth.
Where is the one who summons? he asks. I can free you.
The one who summons is here to kill this building.
He understands. They are coming for the Annex, they have been directed to destroy it.
And then Sean is dragging him back from the rail and into the apartment and slamming shut the door as if that’s going to do anything, as if it makes a difference. The whole place is shaking, dust sifting down from seams in the concrete, Alex’s insides heavy with the rumble of the sound, and Sean is screaming to block out the noise, hands over his ears.
Where? Alex wants to know.
The one who summons, rides. Death is the only way.
But there are no mechs any more, and all around him, in tower buildings, windows and doors are opening as far as they can. Faces, ecstatic and blind, look out at the shinigami, the dead calling the living. People are coming out onto balconies. People are starting to climb up on their window sills.
He scrambles from Sean’s side, to the single bag of things that were salvaged from the other apartment. He tears open the zipper and rifles through. He was right, someone put a comms set in, and a spare pair of the earplugs. He puts the comms in his own ear, taps it, hears someone else’s heavy, rapid breathing.
“Mad?” he asks.
“Alex? That you?”
“Yeah.”
“You ok?”
“On my feet.”
“Sean?”
“I got him.”
He turns back. Sean’s on his knees, holding his head with both hands. He goes over. “Here,” he says, “Here, Sean, put these in. You need these.” Sean’s distracted, it’s a good thing, because if he wasn’t Alex would never be able to do it. As soon as they’re in place the tension runs out of Sean and he sags down onto the concrete floor, face hidden in his hands.
“Mad, the shinigami are going to destroy the Annex.”
“Jesus fucking Christ on a motherfucking cracker-”
“I don’t know much the building can take, but they can do damage, Mad. I’ve seen the damage they can do.”
“I’ve got the sonic gun. You still in your apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s the view?”
“Perfect.”
“Good. I’m on my way. I know these guys are your friends, Alex, but they have got to die.”
Twenty Seven
They murder the shinigami, him and Mad. Of course they do. And when it’s done, she takes the gun, and goes, and Alex drags Sean off the floor, and puts him on the couch and holds him while he shakes. “This is a change,” he whispers. “Isn’t it usually the other way around?” He means it as a joke but Sean doesn't laugh. He doesn’t even speak for a long time. When he does, his voice is small.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he whispers. “For what happened to you. Look what happened to you. Look what I did.”
Alex hushes him but he doesn’t listen, just keeps talking, confessing, sorrowing, sobbing. The call of the shinigami makes the victims want to die, and anyway, Sean always cared too much. Ten minutes they sit like that, till Sean’s breathing is getting normal again, and he’s starting to sound tired and wrung out.
“You ok now?” Alex asks him.
“I’m sorry,” he answers in a dead sort of voice. “Everything that happened. Look what I let happen to you.”
“Yeah. Rent-free apartment in downtown Vancouver. It’s shitty.”
“I mean what Cameron did to you.” He looks at Alex, his eyes red and puffy, wretched, hiccupping. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t deserve you. You should leave.”
“Sean,” Alex has to try not to laugh, try to be serious because Sean’s really upset, more upset than Alex has ever seen him before, “that’s the shinigami talking.”
Sean puts his head down against Alex’s shoulder. “I love you babe,” he sobs, “I don’t want you to leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you, asshole.”
“Maybe you should. Maybe it would be better. Maybe I don’t deserve you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, Sean. Can you even hear yourself? You sound like a wino.” He tips up Sean’s head and looks him in the eyes. “Hey, look at me,” he says and Sean does, cringing a little. “We’re ok. The shinigami are making you miserable, but it’s not going to last. Simone’s got you drugged to the eyeballs and that’s probably not helping. Got it?” Sean manages a tiny nod. Alex nods back. “And don’t get snot on my shirt. These clothes are literally the only things I own.”
Sean laughs faintly and sniffles.
“There. Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Sean answers. He sits back a little. “Holy crap I’m tired.” He wipes his face and then stares at the wetness on his hands. “I’m… How long have I been crying?”
“Yeah, way too long.”
Somewhere something rattles on a hard surface. He looks around, craning. It’s Sean’s phone, shuddering itself almost hovering on the stone counter top. Alex disentangles himself from Sean, goes over and picks it up. He glances down at the screen.
Art: Come taco my office.
He stares at it, and then starts laughing. It rolls over him like a wave, till he’s doubled over and helpless and Sean has to get up and take the phone from him. Then he laughs too.
“Oh Jesus,” he whispers, holding his stomach and trying not to shake too hard. He takes the phone, taps out, k, and sends. “Come on, let’s go.”
Alex looks at him. “Forget it,” he says. “You’re too fucked up. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Art’ll want us all there. Everybody who’s alive. It’s not a deployment, it’s a head count.”
They go together.
Art’s office is on the top floor. They ride the elevator up, and Sean’s grateful for Alex. He’s already exhausted, like walking from the apartment to the elevator took everything he’s got left. He leans against Alex and Alex holds him like a brace, almost casually. A long time ago, when they were in South Korea, he sprained his knee and it swelled up to twice its size and turned blue and purple with a halo of snot-green. Alex had held him up then too. Casually, so nobody who was looking when they were standing would have guessed. And there were people looking, looking for two white guys, one of them with a bum knee. They got real good at hanging out with Russians and looking casual.
Mad, Art, and Rak are already present when they arrive. Art’s come out of her exo-suit and is in her chair. She comes over to him, covering the length of the room in about ten seconds, and he leans down so that she can hug him hard.
“I can’t believe you’re on your feet already,” she whispers. “I thought we were going to lose you for a bit there.” Before he can say anything she pulls away. She looks at Alex and nods. “Mad told me about what you did when the shinigami attacked. Thank you.”
Alex smiles faintly.
“Now, come on, both of you, have a seat. Simone’s swamped, but she’s ok.”
Sean looks over at Rak, wanting to give him a little encouragement. He knows he worries about Simone when she’s been healing people. It drains her, and after a lot of work she might be down for days. He’s pretty sure he falls into the �
��a lot of work” category, and now this, this isn’t going to help. But Rak is looking at the floor. He looks exhausted. Like the shinigami hit him hard.
“Rak,” Sean says, “you alright?”
Rak raises his head and nods.
Alex helps him to the couch and they both sink down. He’s already sweating through his shirt from all the effort. He wipes his face with his hand, catches Rak watching him and figures that regardless of all the casualties from this last attack, a report on his condition is going right back to Simone. He doesn’t want Simone to worry so he sits back against the couch and sighs. “Don’t you got AC in here Art?” he asks.
She gives him a look that tells him she’s looking right through the bullshit and not even going to answer that. He grins at her and she ignores that too. “We’ve never been the epicenter of a shinigami attack before,” she says. “This is a totally urban area, and they’ve only ever hit the water and the parks. Something’s changed. We need to find out what.”
“That’s easy,” Rak says suddenly. “It’s Marshall.”
Sean looks at him. He sitting with his back to the conference table, knees open, elbows on knees. He looks up. He looks tired. He wonders how long he was without earplugs too. “It has to be. It’s the only thing that’s changed.”
“Alex said something about the shinigami being directed.”
Everyone turns to look at Alex. “That’s what they said,” he tells them quietly and Sean’s mouth drops open. Apparently everybody knows about that. He wonders what else he missed when he was unconscious.
“If you’re right-” Art begins, but her phone rings. She sighs. “Damn,” she says and fishes hers out of her panniers. She reads the message on the screen. Then, frowning, she taps out a reply, and a response follows. She grunts, then pockets it again. “Sorry,” she says. “That changes things. Where were we?”
“The one who summons,” Alex says softly, and it sounds crazy. Everybody looks at him. “The one who summons, rides.”
“Babe?” Sean says very quietly. “You ok?”
“It’s what the shinigami said.” He looks up, at Art. “It was a directed attack. The one who summoned it directed it and, I think, was in there, with them. Maybe on one of them.”
