She can feel it.
All trace of sadness wiped from her expression, a smile of satisfaction begins to creep onto her lips and she snuggles deeper into him. Before Dylan has a chance to respond to the flood of lust building within him—or to even begin to address the morality of his blossoming, uncertain desire—the door bursts open.
In walk Alex, Jax, Red and Oz, all equally tired and dirty.
Dylan pushes Alice away from him, trying to smother his feelings of guilt before the fact of it becomes apparent. While Alice, calm, her heart rate holding steady at sixty-five, straightens her clothes and behaves naturally. Fortunately, nobody notices their interrupted indiscretion.
Dylan tries to appear nonchalant, and partially accomplishes it. “Success?”
Nobody answers him, and Alice notices someone missing from the bedraggled group.
“Where’s Silver?”
No answer.
Jax glares at her, the night’s events justifying her own personal opinions about violet-eyed Alice.
Without words, the weary quartet ditch their weapons on the table and begin to disperse, so Alice raises her voice to make herself heard before it’s too late.
“Where is she?”
Alex answers her without looking up. “She hung back.”
“What for?”
“She had a bad night.”
“And?” Alice presses.
Alex finally meets her gaze, his expression fraught. “I know that you’re new to this, so I’ll give you the benefit of my considerable experience.” He squares up to her. “Let it go.”
Alone again, Dylan seeks to comfort Alice, but he doesn’t know how. He tries to put his hand on her shoulder, but she brushes it off and runs upstairs to the apartment to be alone.
*************************
Maydevine’s black Division vehicle is parked outside a lopsided Fringe District building. The runic code for ‘meeting place’ is scrawled in spray paint along the side of the old tumble-down porch, and the interior is lit by tallow candlelight.
At a table fashioned out of bricks and a plank of wood, Silver and Maydevine share a picnic of sandwiches and raw vegetables. Maydevine, seated on an upturned trash can, picks at his food more out of politeness than hunger. Truth be told, he only brought some for himself with the intention of giving it to her as an additional meal.
Cozied into a bucket seat ripped out of some Old World car, propped up on a pile of cinder blocks, Silver takes a bite out of a raw cauliflower floret and pulls a face.
“It’s good for you,” Maydevine chides. “Get it down you.”
Maydevine slides his own portion of veggies toward her, but she doesn’t look enthused.
“Can’t I just put it in my pocket? Like I did when I was a kid.”
“I miss you, but I don’t miss picking veggie stodge out of the washing machine drum.”
Silver smirks. “That’s parenthood for ya.”
“Of course. I’ve been the teacher, the cleaner, the shoulder to cry on, the advisor, the friend, and the disciplinarian.” He takes a sip of the soda water he brought her. “Speaking of which …”
Silver tosses a chunk of the cauliflower aside. “Here we go …”
“You fucked it up tonight, kid.”
“We suffered a setback,” she pouts. “We’ll bounce back.”
“Meanwhile, I’ve got another dead body on my hands.” He hesitates. “Thanks.”
“It’s not our fault. That guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Maydevine lights up a cigarette. “He was taking a fucking piss.”
“Yeah, in the Fringe. In a butcher shop parking lot, in the dark—real smart,” Silver sneers.
Maydevine puffs on his cigarette in the silence that follows.
Finally, “That guy you shot at. We picked him up a few blocks away.”
Silver perks up, but Maydevine quickly sets her straight.
“Not our guy.” Another puff. “Just some Dodger who chose a bad time to panic.”
Silver gives the cauliflower another go. “What was he doing there anyway?”
“By his account, he was there to buy drugs and he snuck upstairs when no-one was looking.”
“He had some balls, sneaking into a PP event. The place could’ve been crawling with Fishers.”
“I think he was willing to take a chance on that, but he started shitting bricks when he saw your face. Police Agents have to operate within the rules, Bounty Hunters don’t—that’s why he panicked.”
“Did you guys cut him a break when you caught him?”
Maydevine’s silence and deflection speaks volumes. “What’s your next move on the ghost?”
Silver sighs, hoping that the Dodger’s enforcement will be assigned to someone else. She’s got too much on her plate already.
“Keep the remaining members of the Fusion Project in protective custody, and wait for our deviant ghost to turn it up a notch.”
Maydevine takes another long puff of the cigarette. “I don’t like waiting. It’s not productive.” Another puff. “What are we looking at here? Some freak taking the moral high ground? An over-zealous hippy? Or what? Who the hell gives a shit about Chimera anyway?”
Silver thinks back to the pit fight, and to the opponent with the violet eyes. In light of this new information, Alex’s animal rights theory seems far more plausible—just not in the way he originally thought.
“Another Chimera?” she postulates.
Maydevine locks eyes with her. “Excuse me?”
“What do you know about Fusions? Did you know about the Fusion Project before meeting me here tonight?”
“I gave you everything I had. Why? You think I’m holding back?”
Silver doesn’t answer, so he looks away from her.
Shaking his head, “I’m offended.”
“I’m just trying to figure out how deep this conspiracy runs.”
“Well, you can turn your attentions elsewhere ‘cause I don’t play dirty for anyone—not even Phaeden Rist. You know that.” He crushes the butt of his cigarette on the dilapidated floorboards. “You really think a Fusion could be responsible for all of this?”
Silver shrugs. “This all started at the recommencement of the Third Reclamation. It’s about land—it has to be. It’s nature. We’re trying to take something that doesn’t belong to us, and the indigenous population is fighting back.”
“So, do you want to tell me how the fuck an Out District mutant is getting into the Sentinel District and rattling my cage?”
“I don’t know that—not yet. But I’ll get to him. You know I will.”
“Yeah, well, when you do, can you try to keep it away from my turf? I took a lot of flack for that little stunt you pulled today in the Sentinel District.”
“Ethan Raine?”
“He cried like a little girl and said you assaulted him.”
Silver blows a raspberry. “I didn’t touch him.”
“I believe that. He’s kind of a wet blanket, that twit.”
Outside, the rain finally stops and the storm begins to move away from the city.
“That’s my cue.” Maydevine gets up and straightens his jacket. “You want a ride?”
Silver shakes her head. “It’s out of your way, and the weather’s cleared. I don’t mind the walk.”
Maydevine moves in close to her and plants a kiss on the top of her head, his firm hand upon her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch, kid.”
A squeeze, and then he’s gone.
Silver packs up the rest of the food. Except for the cauliflower, which she leaves behind for the rats. On her walk home, just a few blocks away from her meeting with Maydevine, Silver passes by the entrance to an Omega protected chunk of North Town land, cordoned off from the rest of the Fringe District.
A large sign on the front entrance identifies the contained area as a Hazardous Waste Treatment Facility, Restricted Entry: Omega Personnel Only—but Silver knows better. Protected by a ten fo
ot, electrified chain link fence topped with barbed wire, this place gives off the illusion that the security precautions exist entirely for the safety of curious passersby.
That’s all just distraction, though. There’s no hazardous waste here, and even if there was, Omega wouldn’t give a crap about Fringer safety. All the bio-hazard and toxic waste symbols are nothing more than simple misdirection, just like the pile of burning tires and a large pit filled with household refuse from the Sentinel District.
Poor Staten Island.
Once a dump, always a dump.
Most of the Sentinel District trash—that which can’t be recycled—is taken to the main Waste Management Facility and incinerated. Strategically, a small portion of the stinkiest, most fetid and rank garbage is saved, and transported here as an additional deterrent.
The smell is bad enough, but it’s not nearly the worst thing. An abundant supply of decaying meat and vegetables, disposed of here all year round, brings out the death scavengers. The ground around the pit is virtually carpeted with rats, crows, feral cats and all manner of flying, swarming, breeding bugs and creepy crawlies.
In the midst of all this, there stands one, lonely building. Erected during the First Reclamation, barely anyone still living has ever seen inside it. Presumably, it’s filled with drums of lethally toxic chemicals and other nasty, deadly materials that’ll burn your face off or make your bones dissolve.
It’s a single level, concrete shell with a corrugated metal roof. One bay door, just big enough for a Hunter Division truck, is the only legitimate way in or out, and it’s protected by a numeric keypad.
Silver’s been here before.
She’s one of the few who knows that the Hazardous Waste Treatment Facility is completely empty. Behind those walls, there’s one large room with a twenty-by-twenty-foot hole in the middle of the floor. The hole is covered by steel trap doors, sealed by another numeric keypad and an Omega tag scanning plate.
Beneath that, there should be … nothing. What used to be there should’ve been destroyed almost a decade ago, at the end of the Second Reclamation.
An old Hunter Division service passage.
Constructed by Omega, it was used during the First Reclamation for the Hunter Division to move easily back and forth between the war zone and the Sentinel District. The One Way Bridge didn’t open up until after the Chimera here were exterminated, so the service passage was the only way in and out. Essentially, this main tunnel is a completion of the abandoned Old World subway extension, originally intended to connect Brooklyn to Staten Island.
It outlived its purpose, though, and the entire tunnel system was demolished with C-4. After a group of Fringers breached Omega’s security protocols and used it to sneak into the Sentinel District to wreak havoc, the Governor had no choice.
At least, that’s what all the official documents say.
Which begs the question: why the need for such security here? If there’s nothing left but a useless pile of dirt?
A curious thought leaps into her head.
What if?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Crossing the Line
Huddled in the doorway of the rear entrance, Alice waits for Silver.
Her hair’s dripping wet, and her clothes are soaked through from the rain. More than ever, she looks like the fragile, young woman Silver found naked and lost in the Out District, and Silver can’t help but feel maternal.
“What’re you doing?”
Rubbing her hands over her arms to try and generate some warmth into her frozen body, Alice gets up and takes one small step out into the street. “Waiting for you.”
“You know you can’t be out here alone. Fishers patrol here.”
Alice nods, shaking her tears loose. “I was worried.”
“What’s wrong?” Silver coaxes. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to be left alone,” Alice wails.
“You’re not alone.”
“But if something happens to you … or if you …” Her words die.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Silver attempts to comfort her.
“These people …”
Silver pulls Alice in close. “They won’t hurt you.” She wraps Alice up protectively in her arms. “I promise.”
While Alice sobs, Silver’s attention is drawn to a Chimera down the street. It’s tied up on a heavy metal chain, guarding a private scrap yard. Standing downwind of her, the Chimera smells a meal and begins clawing at the ground, huffing and posturing. A sign that once said ‘beware of guard dog’ has been amended to say ‘beware of guard animal’.
She begins to think of how many Chimera could be lurking in the Fringe District. They represent food, pets, entertainment and more, and each and every one of them could be a possible vector for a deadly virus.
She remembers the sandwich in her hand.
“Come on, you need to eat.” She nudges Alice. “Let’s go inside.”
Alice doesn’t fight it, and chomps down the sandwich before they even get back up to the apartment. With food in her belly, the next thing on Alice’s mind is sleep … sort of.
She strips herself bare and clambers into the bed, waiting there for Silver. “Are you coming?”
Hesitant, Silver sits on the edge of the bed and removes her boots, deliberately taking her time. She feels Alice slide up behind her. Knowing what will follow, she fights her body’s reaction to flinch when Alice touches her.
Moving Silver’s ponytail out of the way, Alice leans in and starts planting kisses on her neck. Reaching around Silver’s waist, Alice slips her hands up and starts copping a feel of Silver’s breasts over her clothing.
A recipe for instant nausea.
Silver stops her, and pulls her hands away. “Not tonight.”
Rejected, Alice slumps back onto her side of the bed.
Silence.
Then, “Is it because of him?”
Jealousy prevents Alice from saying his name, but Silver doesn’t need her to.
Alex.
Her stomach does a one-eighty.
“It’s been a rough day, all right? Can’t we just leave it?”
Alice doesn’t answer. She rolls over and tucks the blankets around her, sulking. Silver hates hurting her, but she can’t see any other way forward.
Hours later, lying next to a soundly sleeping Alice, the swelling guilt keeps Silver awake. Bored, and fed up of rolling from front to side and back again, Silver gets up as quietly as she can, dresses, and sneaks out of the apartment.
In his own room, Alex also lies awake. Flicking through the pages of a reclaimed Old World Superman comic, barely interested, he pulls an old photograph from its safe hiding place within the pages.
It’s himself and Silver, from many years ago.
Somewhere in the building, a door slams shut and Alex is jolted out of his reminiscent daydream. Curious, he closes the comic and gets up. Still dressed, it only takes him a second or two to catch up with Silver, and to watch her leave through the theater’s back door.
He follows her, of course, and keeps pace with her on the short jog back to the bogus Hazardous Waste Treatment Facility in North Town. From the shadows, he watches her walk the perimeter of the site, seeking an entry point.
No such luck.
The fence is completely intact, and it’s impossible to dig beneath it; it extends several feet beneath the surface of the ground. Still unaware that Alex is spying on her, Silver catches a morbidly obese rat as it waddles over her foot, and she tosses it at the fence.
The result? Fried rat.
Still electrified.
Stepping backwards and almost tripping over a nearby manhole cover, another thought sparks in her head. Using all her strength, she hauls up the manhole cover and peers down inside.
Darkness.
Withdrawing a mini flashlight from her pocket, she shines it down into the pitch blackness and satisfies herself that there’s nothing harmful skulking within close proximity. That se
ttled, she jumps down into the hole with practiced co-ordination, and lands perfectly on her feet.
The pipe she finds herself in is roughly six-by-six feet, and circular. It looks like some sort of drainage system. She shines the flashlight both ways, but the powerful beam hits nothing more than empty sewer space before fading out into the darkness.
Careful to properly orient herself, she picks the direction which will take her toward the service passage—and Alex isn’t far behind her.
He waits until her bouncing light begins to fade away, and then jumps down into the pipe, though his landing isn’t quite so flawless. Without a flashlight to guide him, he follows the bobbing dot of Silver, being careful to keep his distance. Ahead of him, Silver reaches the passage behind the sealed metal doors and drops down inside.
It looks just how she remembers it.
She used this tunnel system regularly during her time in the Hunter Division, though not for work. Disused since the end of the First Reclamation, she and Alex had taken advantage of the vast, derelict space. They used to hide out down here, screwing on an old mattress, exploiting the fact that the tunnels interfered with their tag signals.
Omega had no idea where they were.
Old, dry bones from long dead Chimera are scattered all over the dirt floor. There’s graffiti on the walls, drawn by the hands of Hunters, and the images portray a vivid picture of life during a time of war.
She clambers up onto a small platform where the electrical box is located. Without a key for the box, Silver clenches the mini flashlight between her teeth and uses her hunting knife to pry open the lock. Inside, there’s a mess of switches and wires, with one master switch.
Silver flicks it on.
The tunnel has clearly not been destroyed.
Lights start to flicker on with a loud, electrical buzz, lighting the way down the tunnel. The humming, cracking, and occasional spark from the dusty wiring obscures the noise as Alex stumbles clumsily into the tunnel, just as Silver turns a corner and disappears out of sight.
If she hears the noise, she ignores it.
She continues down the tunnel for several hundred yards, trying to establish the likelihood that the rest of the service passage is just as intact as the entranceway.
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