Chromed- Rogue Page 9

  “You told me not to take any.” Mike grinned. “Now I see why.”

  Zacharies had to make Mike understand. This world had no Seekers. Not until now. “Why are there only four of them?”

  Mike looked blank. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s not how they work.” There had to be more. Zacharies looked about with his gift, feeling nothing but people’s panic. The crowd was thinning, trickling away like water after a storm. “The Master would only do this if he could turn many more people. They’re called Seekers. They hunt at the Master’s will. They scour the earth.”

  Obie faced down the street. “You hear that?”

  Miles nodded. “Sounds like rain.”

  Zacharies looked for a place to hide. “It’s not rain.”

  “It’s not?” said Mike.

  “No.” Zacharies walked into the street. The buildings offered little safety from what was coming. “It’s an army.”

  A woman, white apron still tied around her, sprinted around a corner about a block up. Her head moved from side to side, sightless eyes staring before she fixed on them. She screamed and ran toward them.

  “This doesn’t look so bad,” said Miles.

  The rest poured around the corner like beetles from a jar. Zacharies took a step back. There weren’t four. There were hundreds.

  The impact of their feet sounded like a storm before their screaming filled the air, drowning everything else out.

  Zacharies held a hand to his head, fingers coming back red and sticky. It might have been from when Mike shot the Seeker in the doorway behind him.

  Seekers are here.

  He shook his head to clear it. Bodies littered the street. The woman with the apron was there, torso sheared from her legs by a laser. The man behind her, his yellow Toys ‘R’ Us uniform now smeared with red. The remains of a child, head missing, hand clutching a plastic doll.

  It had happened faster than thought, the three Metatech men moving and firing like they shared a mind. Bodies had burned, exploded, spun, and died.

  “There will be more.” Zacharies looked at Mike. “This is just the beginning.”

  Obie kneeled before the carpet of bodies on the road, laser rifle sighted. “More?” He ejected a black rectangle from the bottom of his weapon, the battery trailing smoke as it clattered on the street. He slapped a fresh one into the rifle, the weapon cycling lights along its length. It came alive with a soft hum.

  Mike held his sidearm low. “Zach, what just happened?”

  “Yeah.” Miles checked his rifle. “I ain’t never seen a drug like that.”

  “It’s the demon.” Zacharies didn’t know how to explain it better.

  “Okay.” Miles glanced at Obie. The enforcer shook his head. “Demon?”

  “Demon.” Zacharies nodded, pointing at the bodies. “We call them Seekers.”

  “Seekers,” said Mike. “This isn’t a Morningtown Ride, kid.”

  Zacharies blinked. “It’s not a ride, Mike. It’s how they find you.”

  Miles leaned his rifle against his shoulder. “So, they found us.” He looked down the street, then at Zacharies. “What was the point?”

  Zacharies felt helpless and desperate in this city of naive angels. “The Master is trying to take over Heaven and all of its people. He has a water demon.”

  “Water, right,” said Mike. “Like the rain.”

  “Like your blood.” Zacharies let that sink in. “The demon can live anywhere there is water. It’s how it spreads from person to person. They sacked the city of Abinal when I was … I was younger, then.”

  “Abinal?” Zacharies could see Obie’s frown in the set of his jaw. “That a place?”

  “Not anymore.” Zacharies sighed. “It’s where Laia was born. The biggest city on our world. They named it after the earth we stood upon. It was a place of hope. The rain came first, and those who couldn’t find shelter became Seekers. They spread it. A kiss. A shared cup of tea served hot and sweet in the garden bars of the upper town.” He pointed to the white vial laying against dirty concrete. “Drugs of any kind, as long as they have water. Sex. And for all that’s left, for the loveless and the friendless, who have no happiness to share with friends or family, a bite into flesh.”

  “Hold up.” Mike turned to Obie and Miles. “Obie, go to the end of the street where those freaks came from. Miles, you’ve got the other end.”

  “Joy,” said Obie.

  “Ready to rock,” said Miles. The two men jogged off.

  Mike watched Obie’s back. “Before your master arrived—”

  “Before the rift into Heaven.”

  “Sure, before the rift. Whatever. Before he arrived, the rain just made people see shit.”

  “The demon is its own thing, and a part of the Master at the same time. Without the Master to guide it, it is…” Zacharies thought about how to explain it. “It’s like a child without a teacher. Thoughtless. Willful.”

  “How do you avoid it?” Mike took a step closer. “How have you lived with it?”

  “The Master used different tools on the gifted.” Zacharies turned away, shame burnishing his cheeks. “He uses himself.”

  He could hear Mike shift behind him. “What’s that mean, Zach? What did he do?”

  “Pray you never find out.” Zacharies thought of Laia, and the way she cried in the night. “Do angels pray?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I,” said Zacharies. “Your gods and angels have never answered. I thought perhaps here they might hear your voices clearly.”

  “No. God checked out a long time ago. You said there would be more?”

  “It’s like a sickness. It spreads. It needs a little time to…” He groped for the right word in this language, the link hissing at the back of his mind. “Reconfigure.”

  “How many more?” Mike frowned. “How long does it take?”

  “Laia’s city was mighty, a full half a million souls. A cadre of no less than seven hundred Wardens guarded the hearts and minds of its citizens. It fell in three days.”

  “Ah.” Mike stared at the vial. “Right you are.”

  “We should prepare for the end.”

  “Hell, no. No space wizard is coming in here and taking over my city. I’ve got stock, kid.”

  Zacharies laughed. “Okay, Mike. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to meet up with … a contact from Apsel Federate.” Mike glanced at the clouds as if they might lend a hand. “He and I have an understanding.”

  Zacharies leaned closer. “The angel?”

  It was Mike’s turn to laugh. “He ain’t no angel. Not even a little bit.”

  “Is Laia with him?”

  “That’s what he said. We’re going to meet him this afternoon.”

  “Where?” Zacharies’ hand almost touched Mike’s arm. “Where’s my sister?”

  “Easy, kid. There’s an old park buried in the middle of the city. No one goes there apart from pedophiles and muggers.” He tugged his ear. “That’s a problem I’m hoping will solve itself.”

  “Where is the park?”

  Mike’s eyes narrowed. “It’s why I brought Obie and Miles. We’ll be going to the old fairground. It’s got a Ferris wheel, or what’s left of one. They moved it from the sea when the smell got too bad. Used to charge kids a couple bucks a throw—”

  “Mike.” Zacharies wanted to scream. His sister was here! “What about my sister?”

  “She’ll be there. Laia and Mason Floyd both. We’ll need Obie and Miles to be sure we can cut a path in. Easy job. Then we’ll extract them.”

  “Let’s go.” The bodies lay in their hundreds, but it was a small amount compared to what would eat the city. “There is no time to waste.”

  “There’s a little time.” A fallen Seeker, not ready for death yet, craned to look at them. Mike spoke a little louder, a little clearer. “Meeting’s not until two p.m. Time enough for a warm beer and a cold hot dog.”

  Zacharies looked at the sk
y, shading his eyes against the glare with his hand. The star that looked down on Heaven was smaller and brighter than the one that sat, fat and orange, in the sky of his home. “You can eat at a time like this?”

  “Calories, kid.” Mike still spoke loud and clear. “It’s all about calories. C’mon. We’ve got time before that big meeting. With Mason Floyd. And your sister.” He slapped Zacharies on the shoulder, rotating him away from the Seeker watching them. Zacharies let himself be moved along the street, Obie and Miles running to join them.

  The Seeker’s sightless eyes watched. The creature tried to drag itself after them, to continue to listen to what they were saying, but it didn’t have any legs. It let out a hiss as they moved too far away to hear. It didn’t matter. It knew the time and place. Its Master must know everything that happened here.

  Everything.

  Chapter Eleven

  Laia felt the promised warmth in the bottle. She didn’t need her gift. The scent of liquor lay between her and Mason, rich, earthy, and warm. They shared this moment in a whole room full of liquor bottles. Marvelous, that such a thing existed. Sadie and Haraway had left them to it. Preparations, Haraway had said. Fuckery, Sadie had said.

  A small table sat between them. It held glasses, some dirty and some clean. The whisky bottle stood in the middle. The table was marked by many years, and yet there wasn’t enough time left for all her questions.

  Laia held her glass between them, Mason’s face warped in the crystal even with the perfect craftsmanship of Heaven. “Why do you drink this?”

  “Same reason as you. Maybe different reasons too.”

  “Do you miss someone too?” Laia reached for the bottle, topping off her glass. “Have you lost someone?”

  “Not anyone important.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I said it wasn’t anyone important.” The angel frowned, his eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. “He was no one.”

  “I miss my brother. I want to go find him.”

  “That’s not a great idea.” Mason slouched on his chair. “Not right now.”

  “You’re an angel. You could find him. You could bring him here.”

  Mason turned his empty glass in his hands, a little liquid running out and down one of his palms. He seemed lost in thought as he picked up the bottle. “Let’s say for a minute I’m an angel.”

  Laia said nothing, watching as he unscrewed the top of the bottle — so precise, even the things they throw away in Heaven are created beautiful — and poured splashes of liquid into the glass.

  “Let’s also say we’re in Heaven.” He put the bottle next to his glass. “There’s a weakness in the plan of storming the gates and rescuing the fair princess.”

  Laia frowned. “Zacharies is not a … he’s a boy. He’s not a princess.” Her voice slurred on the last word, stretching out the last syllable.

  She felt rather than saw Mason’s half-smile. “Right. Fair point. But back to the problem. What would Heaven be full of?”

  “Angels,” said Laia.

  “Right again. And if we’re all angels, how easy is it to go storm the gates? Me against another asshole, that’s probably fair. Against two, the odds look grim.” He sipped whisky. “Three or more, and I’m toast. Just another corpse waiting for retrieval and memory uplift.”

  Laia frowned. “The prophecy says that the angel who saves our world will be strong and valiant. Fearless.”

  Mason laughed. “Fearless?”

  “Yes.” She looked down, ashamed. “It is written.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of things.” Mason caught her eyes. “I’ve never met a man without fear.”

  “I have.” Laia felt her traitorous chin jut, belligerent. “I have seen it.”

  “Yeah? When?”

  “When you faced down a hundred or more monsters, alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone,” said Mason. “You were there.”

  “No.” Laia shook her head. “You don’t let us in. You’re always alone.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sadie paced, black boots slamming against the wooden floor. She felt caged, a prisoner of the empty town. She wanted the crowd. The mic and the music. Sadie looked out through broken windows, taking in the empty street for the hundredth time. If she leaned far enough she’d be able to see the liquor store where Mason was getting drunk. Again.

  Drunk, and not getting them back to the world. Her eyes drifted to the radio. Fuckit. She grabbed the mic, clicking the button. “Yo, company woman.”

  There was a hiss of static before Carter’s voice filled the space. “I don’t like that term. It’s like calling you an illegal.”

  Sadie snorted. “It’s not like that at all, and you know it. We illegals don’t own the world.”

  The radio clicked to itself, waiting. “We don’t own the world.”

  “Near enough.”

  “For pity’s … Just call me Carter. Can you do that?”

  “Okay, Carter,” said Sadie. “Can you do something for me in return?”

  “Uh. Maybe.”

  “Is it always a contract with you people?” asked Sadie. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

  “I think I do. I’m good at this shit.”

  “What shit in particular?”

  “People.” The word was softened in the middle by a rush of static.

  “Are you good at modesty too?” Sadie frowned. “Among your many talents?”

  “Yes, I assume nothing other than the truth about what I do. You could almost say I was made that way.”

  “You’re bizarre for a company woman.”

  “Talked to many company women? I mean, for longer than it takes to call them a cunt and spit on their shoes.”

  Sadie laughed. “You are good at people.” She walked to the wall where the guitar leaned, strings glinting with the desire to be touched. Sadie hesitated for just a moment before grabbing the neck, then used the edge of her boot to turn the amp on with a flick of the big switch. It hummed for a moment before quieting down.

  “What was that?” asked Carter. “Are you alone?”

  “Mason and Laia are down a couple doors, getting drunk.”

  “He does that a lot. It’s one of his many talents.”

  “Talent?” Sadie snorted. “I’m not sure I’d call it that.”

  “I dunno.” The radio chattered for a moment. “The ability to forget is a unique talent in his line of work.”

  “He doesn’t really forget.” Sadie dragged an old chair closer to the radio. She sat, threw her feet up on the edge of the table, and cradled the guitar. “Does he?”

  The radio was silent for a moment, long enough that Sadie looked up from her guitar, about to repeat her question. “No. He doesn’t really forget anything. It’s why I like him.”

  “You like him?” Sadie strummed the guitar, winced, and twisted one of the tuning keys. “Is that in your job description?”

  The other woman laughed. “Oh, I can see why he likes you.”

  Sadie frowned, strumming the guitar again. “He doesn’t like me. He’s keeping me a prisoner in a city at the edge of the world. There’s not even room service here.”

  “Sadie Freeman, if he didn’t like you, he’d have executed you and left you dead back in the bar.” Carter paused. “You’re a loose end. A problem he needs to solve. You don’t fit.”

  “I fit fine, company woman.” Sadie’s lips hardened into a line. “It’s my planet too.”

  “Didn’t you say we own it?” The radio stretched Carter’s voice thin. “You can’t have it both ways. You can’t hold us accountable for your fuck-ups and then say you own a piece of it too.”

  Sadie sat for a moment, touching the strings, her hands moving without thought. The guitar spoke to her from the amp, notes dropping out against the floor like lost memories. “Maybe. I didn’t fuck anything up, though.”

  “Yes, you did,” said Carter. “Aldo Vast.”

  “Aldo Vast? I know that music.”
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  “You sure? He was your drummer, and your sometime lover.”

  “He was an asshole.”

  “Okay, rocker chick,” said Carter. “Here’s what I know about Aldo Vast. Here’s what I mean when I say you fucked everything up. Aldo Vast, known in Oregon as Bernard Simmons. Known in Wisconsin as Jean Macey. Known everywhere as useless white trash.”

  “What did you say?” Sadie stiffened.

  “Aldo Vast.” It didn’t sound like Carter stopped to take a breath. “Wanted for drug trafficking, assault, and rape.”

  “Stop it.” Sadie sat up straight, her feet pulling off the desk and hitting the floor. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I haven’t even started,” said Carter. “Mary.”

  “What? Who the fuck’s Mary?”

  “Mary Evans,” said Carter. “Eighteen years old. Promising guitarist, a little like you without the grunge. Liked stray dogs and finger painting. She met Aldo Vast last January.”

  “You can’t—”

  “She’s dead now. It’s probably for the best. As near as I can work out, she spent the last four hours of her life locked in a trailer with him.” Sadie swallowed, saying nothing. “You invited that into your life. Into your bed. Which one of us is accountable?”

  Sadie held the guitar against her chest. She felt sick. “How do you—”

  “That’s not the question you want to ask.”

  The radio popped, the old grill on its front grimy as her soul. Sadie looked down at her guitar. “Is he dead?”

  “Still not the right question. You should be asking me why I give a shit.”

  “Okay, company woman,” said Sadie. “Why do you give a shit?”

  “Because I like Mason. You didn’t need to ask, did you?”

  Sadie touched strings with her nails, the amp scratchy and harsh. “That’s not the right answer.”

  Carter laughed, the sound tinny. “Oh, okay. Fair enough. I can’t give you the right answer. Or … only a little piece. For what it’s worth, it’s the truth, as far as it goes.”

  “That’s not worth much,” said Sadie. “It’s not written in a contract. That’s how you people work, isn’t it?”