The Immortality Game

by Ted Cross

  Zoya caught Leonid by the arm. “What happened here?”

  He shrugged off her hand and knelt by the nearest body. “Look,” he muttered, lifting something near the skull. Zoya edged closer and a small metallic box implanted in the left side of the skull, the slot interface, and a tiny wire ran from the slot toward the nearby pillar.

  “Meshing did this?” She thought back to what she had seen at the station near her apartment. There had been Mesh addicts there, but there had also been people to tend to them. “Where were their minders?”

  “They all chose to succumb,” Leonid said.

  “But…‌why?”

  Leonid looked about, seeming to examine the darkness of the station. “You think this is an easy life? Begging for food up above? Making stew from rat meat?”

  The vehemence in Leonid’s voice made Zoya take a step back. “Why stay then? Why not live with the rest of us out there?”

  “We don’t belong there. You are not our people.”

  “We are all Russians, no?”

  He shook his head and rubbed a hand at the back of his head. Zoya remembered the scar where his slot should have been, and everything clicked into place.

  “That’s why you stitched shut your slots.” She pointed at the bodies around the pillar.

  Leonid nodded. “We chose to live.”

  A distant clatter came from the tunnel from which they had come. Leonid stood up and pointed. “That way is the exit.”

  Zoya took a step, then turned back. “You won’t come?”

  “I’ll shutter the lamp. They won’t find me.”

  “Perhaps I should hide with you. When they give up—”

  “Go,” he said, shaking his head. “You belong up there.”

  “But I have no light. I can’t see to climb the escalator.”

  He shrugged. “Go carefully then.”

  She turned and tried to pick out a path through the bodies with the dim light. The center of the long hall seemed to offer the best chance of clear floor, so she stepped carefully in that direction. Darkness enveloped her and her ears picked out the faint squeaking of the rats. She placed her steps carefully to avoid tripping over the dead, and every few moments she looked back just so she could see light again. Leonid held the lamp higher and pointed toward the exit, and she realized how easy it was to lose the direction in the gloom. She corrected her course and imagined that she could just make out the ticket booth at the end of the platform.

  The light vanished. Zoya clapped her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. She turned her head back toward Leonid, but there was only utter blackness. Bastard, she thought. Acid flooded her mouth and she spat it out. Don’t panic!

  Now light flared behind her again, but when she looked it came from the distant tunnel entrance. Tavik! Her stomach clenched and she lurched forward two steps, dropped to her knees, and retched. Wiping her mouth with her coat sleeve, she wondered if she shouldn’t grab a blanket from one of the corpses and pretend to be one of the dead. The thought made her retch again. Sweat beaded her clammy forehead.

  The combat card! She’d been ignoring its various messages while she concentrated on following Leonid through the tunnels, but now she wondered if it could help in some manner. She noticed a red arrow pointing in the direction she thought must be the exit. When she turned her head the arrow turned as well, and tiny letters to the side of the arrow changed as her head swung around. It’s a compass! A giggle escaped her lips. She still couldn’t see a thing in the direction the arrow pointed, but she decided to trust it and began walking ever so slowly. She held her hands thrust out in front of her and stepped over bodies when the toes of her boots found them. The light behind her grew stronger and the sound resolved itself into that of running feet.

  Zoya’s hand encountered something hard and coldly metallic. Using both hands, she patted the flat sides until she was certain she had found a ticketing booth. Behind her came a shout and the light jerked and dimmed at the sound of a large body hitting the ground. Zoya edged by the booth and saw a faint gleam of light off of metal ahead of her. It was the bank of escalators. Now that she could see again, she hurried toward the closest one. She saw where the light came from, as far above up the long escalator sunlight streamed in from the metro entrance.

  With a whimper at the thought of the exhausting climb, Zoya stepped up onto the first stair. She didn’t trust her footing in the dim light, so she climbed using all four limbs. The sunlight was discouragingly far away, so she concentrated on the placement of her hands with each upward step. A hint of fresh breeze wafted down from above and cooled the sweat on her brow. Her injured knee and elbow protested, and even her uninjured muscles threatened to give out from overuse, but she overruled them with her mind and forced her way up step by step toward the light.

  Moscow

  Sunday, June 8, 2138

  8:56 p.m. MSK

  Marcus stumbled to a halt, panting, and gripped his painful, heaving sides with one arm while the other trembled to keep from dropping the torch. He had tried so hard to keep up with the swaying light. It had vanished some time ago, and Marcus had done his best to pick up the pace, despite his utter exhaustion, but he had never caught sight of it again. Now he was done, blown like an old racehorse that had tried to run a derby.

  What a day. It seemed like weeks since he had taken the exam for his doctorate, though it had been less than a day, even with all the time zones. Who could have ever imagined he would be trotting through pitch dark tunnels beneath the streets of a strange metropolis, chasing after Russian gangsters no less? He had never imagined doing anything so absolutely insane in his life, and yet he undeniably felt more alive than he could ever recall. Despite the exhaustion, the hunger, the fear. The picture floated up in his mind again…‌the photo of Zoya on the wall, with sad eyes and a small, sad smile. He’d seen her in person, but it was always the photo that pushed to the forefront of his mind when he thought of her.

  Now he imagined what that impossibly beautiful woman was going through at this moment, running for her life, her family and friends dead, an unrelenting nightmare and—who knows?—perhaps by now the bastards had already caught and killed her. And he could do nothing to prevent it from happening. Even if he could catch up with them, what could he be expected to do to help her? A scene formed in his mind as his panting breath finally slowed—him shouting at the mobsters just as they are about to shoot her; them turning and shooting him instead, giving her the one chance she needs to make her escape; him dying with a smile on his lips, knowing it was worth it to give it all up for her. He slapped a hand to his forehead. Stupid daydreaming fat ass! If you can’t help her then call Father and get this farce over with!

  He lifted his chin and gave a start when he noticed a dim light in the distance. Are they coming back? Did they kill her and now they are coming for me?

  Whoever it was, they were in no hurry. The light bobbed and took its time getting any brighter. Then it halted, and Marcus realized the person or persons must have seen his own flickering torchlight. Marcus considered his options and realized that escape wasn’t an option. He was finished. He took a few steps in the direction of the light, figuring he might as well make it easy for everyone. Should I call Papa? A breeze wafted down the tunnel, carrying a faint sickly-sweet smell that he couldn’t place. The light began to move again.

  “Hello?” he said, then realized he had forgotten to use the translator, so he said it again in Russian. There was no response, but the light grew brighter.

  Marcus stopped and waited. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to strain himself further until that time. He put a hand against the wall of the tunnel, then jerked it away again when he felt its cold griminess. The light resolved itself into a lamp, swaying in the hand of a burly man with thinning hair and deeply etched lines on his scowling face. The man stopped.

  “Who are you?”

  “Marcus.”

  “Foreigner.” It wasn�
�t a question.

  “American.” He was too tired to be precise and say Western American.

  The big man shrugged. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

  “The girl,” Marcus said. “I’m trying to help her.”

  The man scanned Marcus up and down, and Marcus knew how absurd he must look. The man grinned. “How can you help her?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that I must try.”

  “You’ll never catch them.”

  Marcus nodded.

  The man stared at him for a long moment before letting out a long sigh. “All right. Follow me. I can at least show you which way to go.” He didn’t wait for a response, but turned and began walking along the track. Marcus shuffled after him.

  He couldn’t tell how long it was before the man spoke again, ten minutes, fifteen perhaps. “You smell that?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Marcus said.

  “Best prepare yourself. There are a lot of dead people in the station ahead.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, they’re long dead.”

  “Why?”

  The man shrugged. “The tribe there, they…‌gave up. That’s all. Just thought you should be ready so you don’t panic.”

  “I might panic anyway,” Marcus murmured.

  “Maybe, but at least you know. Where you need to go, you’ll have to walk through them all. Here, see?”

  The man stopped and in the lamplight Marcus could see lumpy forms laid out in rows across the ancient track bed.

  “Maybe don’t look at them closely,” the man said. “Just step over them and keep moving.”

  The man started forward again, and Marcus took a deep breath of the musty air and followed, trying to avoid tripping on the blanket covered forms using only his peripheral vision.

  “Up here,” the man said, holding his lamp high so the light illuminated a set of wooden stairs rising to a pillar-lined platform. Many more bodies were scattered around each of the pillars. The man pointed and said, “Follow the hall that way and you’ll come to the exit. It’s a long climb up.” He turned and began walking down the train tunnel again.

  Marcus watched the man’s broad back fading away in the darkness. “Thanks,” he said. There was no indication the man heard him.

  Zoya was glad the sun set late in the summer. Seeing the sunlight streaming in through the broken metro entrance seemed like one of the most beautiful sights in her life. When she stepped out onto the sidewalk an odd feeling swept through her. She had walked this way to work for years, passing the old metro station without much thought, so it felt funny to rejoin her familiar path from a completely different route. She didn’t hesitate in choosing her direction, but turned immediately toward the morgue, knowing that the river was just beyond and if she took a left there she would come to The Pyramid. It also occurred to her that Tavik might assume she went into the morgue. If he stopped there, she might manage to lose him.

  She found herself humming an old tune by The Beatles and forced herself to stop. It felt irreverent to hum on such a day. Music was a more or less constant part of her normal life, but today was anything but normal. She realized her mind must have dredged it up because she always listened to music while walking to work.

  She looked back but didn’t see any sign of pursuit. Hopefully Tavik would have more trouble than she had climbing the interminable escalator steps. She turned to look for the morgue. It was once part of the nearby Hospital #23, but it had been forced to move when one of the wings collapsed, long before Zoya had gotten the job. Now it occupied the part of a building that used to be a dress shop. Her boss Pyotr preferred to call it the ‘clinic’. The larger room was used to prepare bodies for viewing by their grieving loved ones before cremation, though on some occasions a pathologist would come in to perform an autopsy if something suspicious was involved. There was also a small office, a toilet, and of course the viewing room with its thick carpet and rows of plastic chairs.

  It struck her that her life as she had known it was completely over. It wasn’t just the loss of her family, though that was the worst, naturally. There was no going back to her job. There was no returning to any normal life after today. Even if she could somehow evade Tavik, the city authorities were bought and paid for by Tavik’s bosses. She latched onto the thought that she might be able to somehow make it to the countryside, to her friend Irina’s family dacha, and hide there until…‌until what?

  She looked back again, wanting to slip by the clinic without Tavik spotting her. Still no sign of pursuit. She turned forward again and her heart nearly stopped—a silver sky cycle stood in the clinic parking lot. Pyotr had no business being at work on a Sunday, but that was clearly his cycle, standing in the spot where he always parked it. Would Tavik leave Pyotr alone if he came to the clinic and found Zoya wasn’t there? She didn’t think it likely. An exasperation that bordered on anger welled up in her chest. She’d had a chance to possibly escape Tavik for good, but she couldn’t pass by and leave Pyotr to his fate. She hurried forward, thinking that perhaps she could get him out of there quickly and he might even be able to help her escape on his sky cycle.

  Tavik stretched his arms and let the warm sunlight wash over him as he walked through the door of the metro and onto the sidewalk. After the horrors of the past half hour spent crawling through the dark over countless moldering skeletons and up the unmoving escalator that never seemed to end, the sunlight and the clean air felt like passing through the gates of heaven. Even better, he could see Bunny’s huge form far ahead in the direction of the river. No! I know this place. It’s close to where Zoya works. That’s why she went this way!

  Tavik grinned and set off after Bunny. Twice Bunny skittered behind cover, and Tavik assumed Zoya must have looked back to try to spot him. It was amazing how agile the big fuck could be. Bunny had slowed his pace, stalking Zoya rather than trying to catch up to her, so Tavik made up ground on him easily. By the time Bunny turned off the sidewalk into the parking lot of the morgue, Tavik was within hailing distance. He would have called out to Bunny if he thought the bastard would stop, but he decided it would be better to try to get the drop on him. Bunny broke everything he touched, and Tavik didn’t want him touching Zoya. If anyone’s going to break her it’s going to be me.

  “What are you doing here?” Zoya practically screamed. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It wasn’t just Pyotr here, but her friend Irina as well. The grins they had flashed upon her entrance into the office withered at her reaction. Zoya pointed a finger at Irina. “Ira, I told you to get out of the city!”

  “You said leave a message with Pyotr,” Ira said, face flushing red. “He said to meet him here. Said he had some work to do. And…‌and I was worried for you. I just wanted to help.”

  “Where’s your family?”

  “I had them drop me off here and go on ahead. Pyotr said he’d take me when he was done.”

  “Damn it, Ira! Did I not sound serious enough to you when I called? You can’t be here!”

  Ira waved her hands at Zoya. “Calm down! We’ll leave now. Or better yet, we can call the police.”

  Zoya wanted to slap Ira. How could she be so stupid? She turned to Pyotr. “We’ve got to get out of here now! They’re right on my heels, don’t you understand?” Her voice became shrill. “They’ll kill us all!”

  Pyotr got up from his chair, his face pale. “Look, my cycle won’t hold three. Here, let’s go out and I’ll tell it you have permission to take it. You two can go.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll…‌I’ll go out the back and hide somewhere.”

  That didn’t sound good to Zoya, but she didn’t have time for further planning. “All right, but let’s go!” She waved an arm at them and turned toward the door.

  Bunny’s huge body filled the door frame, a blank look on his face.

  Zoya moaned.

  “Jesus!” Ira cried.

  “
You stay back!” Pyotr yelled. “I’m calling the police.”

  Bunny grinned.

  The combat card made its presence felt as Zoya’s heart raced. The now-familiar sensation of time seeming to slow was a welcome comfort to her, and she seized upon the first tactical option the card offered up and reached for the pistol in her waistband. Dammit! I forgot I lost it.

  The second door in the office led only to a small closet, so Bunny blocked the only egress. The metal desk was blocking Pyotr and Ira from immediate harm, but there was nothing between Zoya and Bunny but three meters of thin carpeting and a small table with a coffee pot on it. I’ll have to distract him, Zoya thought. Give them a chance to escape. But where’s Tavik?

  Bunny lurched forward a step, holding his arms out wide as if he were tending net at a soccer match.

  Zoya swung around one edge of the desk and cried out, “Come and get me, you nutcase!” She glanced at her friends and gave a quick tilt of her head, hoping they would understand that they were to use Bunny’s attack to make their escape.

  Bunny halted and widened his wolfish grin. He wasn’t letting anyone go anywhere.

  Zoya kept her peripheral vision on Bunny while she looked for something to use as a weapon. A filing cabinet held a fake potted plant and one of the coffee cups. She seized the cup and flung it at Bunny’s head. It skimmed by his right ear and shattered against the door frame. “Motherfucker!” she yelled and reached for the potted plant. Bunny lunged for her with astounding speed. Even with the combat card’s ability to make time seem to stretch, he nearly reached her before she was able to adjust her aim and bring the ceramic pot down on his head. The blood pounding in her ears sounded louder than the muffled shattering of the pot. Bunny’s momentum carried him into her despite the soil in his eyes and a heavily bleeding cut on his thick brow. His arm flailed and caught her midriff and they crashed together into the wall beside the filing cabinet. Zoya managed to protect her head, but the wind was knocked out of her and her back hurt from taking the brunt of the impact. She slid to the floor, trying desperately to breathe, while Bunny loomed over her, his arms planted against the wall and his blood pattering down onto her lap.