Ashes

by Russ Linton

  The driver's door swung open. Jackie straightened her hijab and half rose, so she could climb down and greet him. She couldn't tell much about him. He was stocky, or perhaps it was the extra coat piled on top of his vest and tunic. He ignored her and spoke to Hound.

  Men's backs. She'd gotten used to seeing those. Behind a platoon of soldiers or a gathering of tribal elders doing their best to pretend she wasn't there. She cracked her neck and bit back an angry demand.

  "We're letting the brakes cool off," the driver said, speaking in his native tongue. With the backwash from the tail lights, she could clearly see he was a broad man wearing an old Soviet army jacket. "The border, it is ahead," the man made a lazy gesture up the road, keeping his eyes off Jackie as she hopped to the ground.

  "Best tell her," Hound replied, in his own Pashto weighed heavily by his American accent. "She's the reporter. We're just her muscle."

  Whether Hound was simply sticking to a cover story or genuinely wanted to make the guy acknowledge her, Jackie couldn't tell, but she was thankful.

  The man waited and turned to eye her suspiciously. "American?"

  "Chinese," she said, in Arabic, hoping he understood and hoping her own accent wasn't too obvious. "They...they might be American. Mercenaries, I don't care where from."

  This seemed to satisfy the man. He still wouldn’t look her in the eye. "This is as far as we go. We don't want any trouble at the border."

  "Thank you," she said. She searched her pocket for the roll of bills and pulled several free. "For your trouble."

  The man took the money with barely a nod and returned to the cab. Danger gathered his gear and leapt to the ground. Not bothering with the tailgate, Hound stepped over to the rear fender and hopped before lugging his pack out after him. He'd barely cleared the gate when the driver pulled away.

  "Think he'll squeal at the border?" asked Hound.

  Danger shook his head, staring after the tail lights. "Naw, he ain't a problem."

  Hound's brow furrowed, and he tilted his head to direct an ear into the open night. Whatever he sensed raised his eyebrows. "Let's get off the road."

  "How do you not let this go to your head?" she said aloud. "Both of you can do so much more than a normal person, and you guys aren't even top tier Augments, if you don't mind me saying."

  "Powers or no powers, none of that bullshit matters," Hound said, motioning her toward the trees. "All about doin' with what you got. Come on."

  She wasn't sure why they fled into the trees, but she followed. A still night, there was only a slight rustle in the trees. Once they were deeper into the whipping boughs and soft ground made deceptively treacherous by deadfall, she heard the rustling increase, then amplify.

  She heard the whir of a helicopter rotor. Jackie knew this must be what had grabbed Hound's attention from however many miles away and had made Danger uneasy as well.

  They picked up their pace, and above them, the trees clamored. The shadow of the chopper blotted out stars as it beat past. Hound's radio chirped to life.

  "You guys got company. Want me to ground it? Don't think they've seen me." It was the Black Beetle.

  Hound struggled to peel away the layers of clothes he'd hidden the radio underneath. "Hold your horses. We don't yet know who they are."

  "Do we care?" asked the Black Beetle.

  "Of course we care," muttered Jackie through rapid breaths. Barely a whisper, Hound acknowledged her with a concerned twitch of his own.

  One low pass and the helicopter continued. Hound put his hand up for a halt, and they crouched under the dense tree cover. She hadn't been able to make out if it was civilian or military.

  "They're headed my way." The Black Beetle called out once more. Over the open comms, she heard another voice say, "Target locked" in a half droning, half oozing sort of way which made her skin crawl. "It's a Russian military helo. Mi-17 or some bullshit. I think it's coming straight at me. Going dark." The transmission cut off behind a faded shout of commands.

  "Spencer, goddamnit, we don't need a light show four clicks off the Paki border." The channel remained silent. Hound let the mike head swing loose on the cord.

  "Hello? You guys there?"

  This was a different voice, and one Jackie didn't recognize at all. The request sounded youthful, timid even. Not the voice of a Russian helicopter pilot. Hound's eyes suddenly reflected more light than there was beneath the trees. He met Danger's gaze, and even the prescient Augment seemed surprised.

  "Eric, get that bird down before yer friend turns ya inside out!"

  "Friend? Who?"

  Hound gritted his teeth and looked sideways at Jackie. "Beetle."

  "Oh, fuck! Don't tell him I'm here, yet! Jesus!"

  A frantic conversation carried on over the open mike. More voices shared the space, barely audible over the background hum of rotors. Shouts sounded in what could've been Pashto. Then she heard a woman's voice, maybe two. The speaker popped and crackled with movement and errant collisions. Hound grimaced and dialed down the volume.

  "Just what we need," he grumbled.

  "Who is it?"

  "Eric. Let's go make sure he doesn't get himself killed before ya meet him," Hound said.

  For fuck sake.

  What kind of sideshow had she gotten involved in? How had this Eric person even found them? Once again, she was putting her trust in these two Augments. They seemed solid enough, but her ability to trust in their judgment wavered with every hour. What she wouldn't give to be completing this little mission of hers with Jacobs and his men.

  Jackie had connections in Islamabad, hundreds of miles away, though it was along the route to Kashmir. Without all the interference she could've maybe talked her way over the border and found another ride.

  The noise of the helicopter had trailed into the distance then held at a steady whir. As they grew closer, the noise increased only to wind down. This newcomer had landed somewhere ahead.

  Danger kept moving. Hound, however, noticed she was no longer in his footsteps.

  "You comin'?"

  "Where's this lab? Tell me."

  He scratched his beard, irritated. "I'm not tryin' to hide nothin'."

  "I want to know."

  "Srinagar, smack dab in the middle, near the hospital. If I give you the address, you gonna head your own way?"

  "Maybe."

  He hung his head and walked toward her. "I understand. This isn't how you want this to happen. The next few days, weeks, could be real important to ya. But put up with us for a bit longer. Maybe it'll help ease ya into knowin' her. You think we're tough to handle? She's a whole 'nother level."

  She'd grown to appreciate the old soldier's bluntness. Now she was floored by it. She felt exposed in that chilly air, unwilling to acknowledge just how right he was.

  "Besides," Hound continued. "We might just have us another ride over that next hill. Beats walkin' through tribal Pak, if ya know what I mean."

  She did. As a woman, traveling alone, she couldn't think of any less hospitable place. She could find her way, she was sure of it, but that would take time and probably money she didn't have. And if Hound were right, if this helicopter were piloted by some other ally of theirs, she'd just be picking through the wreckage of the lab by the time she arrived.

  All her life, she'd lived in the shadow of an Augment who wasn't even there. Close to her now, she'd had to tag along with even more Augments to get there. She wanted to be through with trailing other people, recording their stories. She wanted to write her own.

  CHAPTER 41

  BUMBLING THROUGH THE darkness, swatting branches and testing steps, Jackie was relieved when the trees finally thinned. Hound kept them on course, skirting the edge between the tree line and easy footing. Ahead, Jackie could see the bulk of the helicopter darkening a clearing, blades winding to a stop. A flashlight danced near the center, and she saw a sliver of light play across the cockpit glass. Danger was gone, merged into the crowded darkness of the forest. She and Hound wa
ited at the edge of the clearing, watching.

  A woman's voice exclaimed in what sounded like Pashto, but Jackie couldn't translate. More tribal variations, or maybe a regional dialect. The reply was defensive and in decidedly American English.

  "What did she say?"

  Another woman's voice joined in, though this one had a processed quality as if carried over a speaker. She sounded cloyingly young with an almost Asian accent. "She says she can't afford this long of a delay. You're costing her. Money, fuel, and goodwill." More of the regional tongue interrupted. "She asks, 'Where's Shortwave? You are not him. I know him.'"

  "Woah, slow your roll, sister." Jackie could almost see the speaker, mainly because he held the flashlight which bobbed wildly as he gestured. In the downward arcs, she could see he wore a shiny silver backpack like some sort of astronaut. "Remind her Shortwave is my bud. He's cool with this. I just need another five minutes." The light swung into the sky, searching. "That's all."

  The disembodied voice translated. It came out robotic and halting as if filtered through a translation device, each word pre-recorded but soulless and empty of context.

  "Come on," said the backpack guy. "You're going to freak her out."

  "What? Me?" The girly Asian voice protested. "Do you think she'll wonder if I'm insane?"

  "Can we not do this now? I apologized. Now you need to apologize to somebody else."

  Jackie checked with Hound, her face contorted into disbelief, exaggerated for the sake of the dark. Whether he saw or not, she wasn't sure.

  Another figure wandered away from the blot of the helicopter's open cargo door. A woman of slight build with an ethereal sort of grace, a lightness and tentativeness to every step, each one an exploration.

  "Spencer?"

  Jackie heard the name as if right off her shoulder. She whirled to stare into the woods, willing her senses to tell her something, anything; a prickle on her skin or a subtle variation in the grayness. The dark became claustrophobic. She looked toward Hound to see if he'd zeroed in on the sound, but the clearing erupted.

  A blinding flare of rockets spoiled Jackie's night vision. Two cone-shaped streaks dripped illumination. The outline of the slight figure was almost consumed by the brightness. The Black Beetle hovered over the clearing like some forgotten, primordial insect lord.

  The backpack man shrieked.

  Jackie heard the native speaker exclaim and finally found her in the dark. Wearing a flight suit, she was standing behind the open cockpit door. She slipped inside, never taking her eyes off the Beetle, and cautiously closed the door.

  "You fucking dick," said the Black Beetle.

  Backpack man started to run, his pack deflecting moonlight with awkward jolts. His gait was odd and didn't fit his slim build, but he had speed. Wherever he was running didn't matter.

  Jackie gasped as the monster's engines gave a dazzling burst. He'd left the frail girl in a swirl of cloth and smoke. One vicious swipe and the Beetle snared the retreating figure in his claw.

  "I... I don't know what happened! I mean, you know, the fire department was all en route and Crimson's like all 'let's go' and...what the fuck? I'd shut down the cameras...I couldn't see." The voice faltered and cinched into a strangled breath.

  "I saw."

  That was the voice Jackie remembered. The voice of the Beetle from hijacked television broadcasts. Sinister. Baleful.

  "Ooooooh! Are going to punish him?" The excitement in the girly, disembodied voice sent another shiver down Jackie's spine. She still hadn't located the source. "He doesn't need his legs, Spencer. Don't hurt his fingers though. I like the way they tickle the keys."

  "Chroma!" the man yelped, writhing in the Beetle's grip.

  "Goddammit," Hound muttered. He avoided eye contact with Jackie. Hunched low, he stalked into the clearing, keeping to the shadows. Jackie stuck as close as she could. Seeing Danger might have made her feel better. Like his sleepy ride through the mountains, she'd at least be comforted they weren't in mortal peril.

  An alarm sounded faintly in the helicopter cockpit. Engines clicked and screamed to life. The blades of the helicopter rotor twitched and began their slow stir to life. This did not go unnoticed by the dangling guy.

  "Don't leave!" he shouted. "Chroma, tell her to stay!"

  "Isted! Isted!" shouted the girlish voice.

  Danger emerged from the shadows on the side of the clearing where the slender figure stood. Facing the commotion around the Beetle, she seemed unaware the soldier was just over her shoulder. He'd ditched his pack and assembled the high caliber sniper rifle. Jackie wasn't sure at first what he had in his sights. Was it the girl? Danger approached the helicopter close enough to be seen through the cockpit. The engine wound down.

  "I've been in those claws, once," said the slender woman, ignoring Danger's sudden appearance. She flowed across the grass toward the Black Beetle. "Please, put your friend down. We need to talk."

  The way she spoke suggested a level of familiarity with whomever was inside the armor which Jackie couldn't immediately process. The whole clearing, everybody here seemed to be involved in one big family drama. Or maybe the fallout of some far-flung mission they'd once worked together under the U.S. military. Crap. That would be one hell of a story.

  Jackie fished out her camera. She fumbled with lenses in the dark. Long able to feel her way around her gear and the lens mount, she realized her fingers were stiff, cold, and her heart was hammering. These could be more Augments. She was so close.

  In the time it took Jackie to mount her best low light lens, the Beetle lowered his flailing prisoner. Once on the ground, the man maintained a barely restrained stream of curses as he patted down his body. She could just see the fog of his breath hyperventilated in auto-fire bursts. She held hers and tried a test shot.

  "Fine. But he's not my friend," said the Black Beetle, the voice an irritating buzz.

  Jackie's picture came out a darkened smear, so she focused elsewhere. The feeble light from the cockpit gave her an interesting shot of the pilot, and she took it. She could barely make out Danger's silhouette. Then the slender woman moved closer and into the same eerie glow.

  A landing strobe of some kind on the underbelly of the helicopter bathed a small area in reddish light. She could see the woman clearly now. Frail, young, she couldn't have been much older than her, yet she spoke with a calm assuredness which felt more mature. Her features were Asian, and her hair was a patchy mess. Jackie thought she saw a glint of metal on her scalp.

  "You're among both friends and family. You don't need to worry, honey. We're in this together, always."

  "They killed him." The garbled buzz crackled and became an angered hiss full of static and over-processed rage too close to a microphone. The Beetle lunged menacingly toward the space pack man. "You helped!"

  Jackie was surprised to see the man quiver but stand his ground. "I fucked up, dude," came his soft reply. “Mrs. H, tell him. You gotta help me out here.”

  Mrs. H, the Asian woman, moved close enough to place a hand directly on the Black Beetle's armored side. She did so almost reluctantly. When her palm closed the gap, a weight seemed to lift off her chest.

  "We're all working on the same side," she said. "We need to talk—"

  The Beetle righted himself and stood dejected, arms limp. "You left me in prison. Fucking prison, Mom."

  His voice was now the unscrambled youthful tone Jackie had heard over the radio. She wondered why if he'd been in prison, they hadn't left him there to rot. Then a word fought its way through the fog of camera settings and attempts to frame pictures: Mom. He'd called her Mom.

  "I had to do something," she replied. Jackie could tell this Mrs. H was uncomfortable and unwilling to say more. "It will be good for both of us, trust me. But now, I need you to come back to us."

  "Us?"

  "Me. Eric." The woman indicated each point around the clearing as she spoke, her eyes lingering on where Jackie hunched in the darkness. "Hound and Danger, they're
here too. You didn't do what...what Xamse wanted. They're still here. You're still here. Please, please stop being so angry."

  Jackie's hands went limp. Her camera lowered. A cohesive story was coming together, one she understood on an intimate level. Inside the armor was a man who'd lost someone. But regardless, he was just a man. A person like her who'd found their way into this world of Augments only to become lost himself. It could happen to her just as easily.

  They waited in the gradual pass of the rotor. Engines off, it came to a quiet stillness where it divided the universe into distinct slices. Jackie held her breath and watched, exhaling when the armor itself let loose a wheeze.

  The Black Beetle issued a mechanical hiss, rustling the pliant pine boughs and holly scrub. Dust kicked outward in a cloud, quickly blown back in a gritty haze by the wind. Panels hinged open at the sides, and the front half of the armor exposed itself to the clearing. Sneakered feet hopped down from the armor.

  Small build, even diminutive beside the machine, this wasn't the ruthless soldier she'd expected. He had a scruff of jet black hair on his head, matted and twisted in a definite pattern. His head seemed slightly too large for his body. On his t-shirt was a graphic of a T-Rex and an extinction event emblazoned with the words, “The Wi-Fi is Down!” Head hanging, he moved forward to embrace his mother.

  "You're my only family now. Friends? I never had many of those."

  Hound straightened and strode toward the group. Happy for the diversion and maybe a second chance at life, Eric, the guy with the shiny pack, came at him, his nerves channeled into excitement.

  "Yo, dawg!"

  The old soldier bypassed the raised hand, instead taking the opportunity to punch Eric in the ribs. Playfully, maybe. She wasn't sure. Eric reacted with a flinch and a nervous laugh.

  "Connie," Hound said, addressing Mrs. H, the Black Beetle's mother. Both acknowledged him.

  Jackie had heard both her and Hound refer to the Beetle's pilot as Spencer. The name fit. With his jeans and t-shirt hanging loosely on a small frame, she could see by his shoulders and build he was older than he looked. Kid. She understood why Hound had called him that. Even Danger had called him Kid Crimson.