The two of us took a scenic route around the city. The crowds continued swelling. Especially when the football game finished. The Cortez Crucible won, prompting members of the gang to take to the streets to celebrate.
“I don’t get it. American football is just so…full of time outs,” Laura said as we passed by a group of people snorting lines of cocaine off of a bench, “everyone gets so many breaks. Every play takes like five seconds and then everyone stands around doing nothing for like ten minutes.”
“Hey, you’re not getting any argument from me,” I said, my path wavering, head still spinning from alcohol, “I never even bothered to take any time to learn the rules to American football.”
“What sports did you like?” she asked, still fiddling with some of the stolen product in her pockets, feet scraping unevenly over the pavement.
“I was never much for sports,” I said.
A stocky man covered in sweat walking out of a coffee shop to our right bumped into me as he took a drag from an electronic marijuana cigarette, staring into his ARs. He mumbled something as he walked onto the street.
“That’s interesting,” she said.
“How so?”
“That part of your personality staying with you,” Laura said, “same with the music.”
“Well, it is me that gets passed on every time,” I said, “why wouldn’t that part of me?”
Laura shrugged, “is there anything that does change when you go from one life to the next?”
“A little,” I said, “there are small changes in…in how my emotions manifest. Like, how I feel about things.”
Laura stayed quiet a few moments before saying, “if you…loved somebody in one life, would you still love them in the next?”
An earsplitting explosion erupted. Gouging pain engulfed me. My body skidded across parched earth. Heat pierced through my body like glowing meat hooks, voice howling. I came to a stop on my back, dazed.
I’m on the median now?
Pain racked my body. Smoke and dust clouded the air around me. Brick and pieces of solar panel clattered to the ground. My ear rang, the feeling of warm blood leaking over my right side. A large piece of stone crashed against the solar panel over my head.
“The…fuck…?” I stammered, seeing Laura lift herself to her feet, covered in dust. She stumbled, falling to her knees before standing again, finding an unsteady balance. She turned around, looking down at me, eyes wide. Blood soaked the right side of her face.
People all around screamed and shouted. Pillars of dust and smoke rose into the night sky from the nearby building.
I scrambled to my feet. Immediately another explosion rumbled somewhere further away. More gasps and cries. Laura grabbed onto me as the ground shook, holding my arm close to her, eyes wide. I reached up, gently pushing the dusty, blood-matted hair off her forehead, and found the cut still oozing blood. She said something I couldn’t hear over the shouts, crackling flames and ringing ears.
“There!” I said, taking my hand from her face and running across the street.
The heavyset man that had bumped into me bolted down the road away from the burning building, dodging stunned pedestrians and mangled debris. I raced after him without thinking. His pudgy legs weren’t able to carry him fast enough. I leapt onto his back, wrapping my arm around his neck. He continued a few more steps before my weight brought him tumbling down.
I jumped to my feet, kicking his outer thigh to prevent him from getting up. He groaned, inching forward on all fours on the ash-covered street. I gave him another kick to the same spot. The man howled, sprawling to the dusty ground.
“Who are you?” a wave of dizziness swept over me.
The man coughed and gasped for breath. After a few moments he said, “P-please…let me…let me go.”
“Was it you?” I pointed to the smoke curling out from the devastated coffee shop, “Did you do this?”
By now a crowd of ash covered onlookers gathered on the sidewalk around me. They looked back and forth between the burning coffee shop and the man I was questioning.
“Please…” he went into a fit of coughing.
I looked up at the growing crowd, “does anyone know this man?”
Everyone murmured amongst themselves. I started repeating the question when I noticed a familiar young man with dark skin nervously backing up. The young Indian man who spoke to me outside of…
Outside of the coffee shop that just blew up.
He joined another man in the back of the crowd before both trotted away. I lifted my arm to point at them when a hand grabbed me. Laura. She pointed down at the suspects arm. His RFID chip was removed, replaced by a freshly stitched wound.
“Where’s your chip?” I asked, signaling to his arm.
“Th-th-th-th-th-th-they t-t-t-took it.”
“Who? Benecorp?”
“N-n-n-n-not B-B-B-Bene-c-c-c-c-corp,” he struggled, face reddening through a coat of gray ash, veins swelling, talking through clenched teeth, “Uh-uh-uh-other…w-woman. F-f-from K-K-K-K-K-Kansas.”
“Other woman? Kansas? I don’t understand…”
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I…”
He wasn’t able to finish, body tensing, eyes bulging, struggling to move. The smell of feces mixed with the aroma of dust and burning rubble as the man’s veins looked like they were about to burst from his neck and forehead. I exchanged glances with Laura before looking to the gathering crowd, horror plastered on their expressions. The man quickly died, muscles still tightly clenched.
Just like our prisoner in Mexico.
The pain all over my body flared up as adrenaline faded, sending me to my knees, cringing. Laura said something, but I heard nothing as consciousness slipped away.
“You shouldn’t have exerted yourself like that in your condition,” the paramedic said as he wiped gray dust away from my burnt right arm, “if yer injuries had been worse, you might notta woke up.”
Laura and I sat on the back of the ambulance – I made sure to get the LoC Security service package that came with emergency medical response – looking out at the destruction. My head swam from a mixture of alcohol, pain, and overexertion. Colonel Aaron Reynolds, out of uniform, surveyed the wreckage. Standing near him I spotted the three Crusaders – Big Terry, Sean, and Isaac – that we met in the bar. I could hear them talking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The three of them appeared angry, Big Terry occasionally signaling back to where Laura and I sat.
“I would have woken up somewhere,” I muttered.
Laura shot me a worried look. She already had three stitches on the cut above her right eye, the dust cleared from her face but still graying her hair. I looked back to Aaron Reynolds, who had turned toward us, walking away from the three dismissive men.
The paramedic shrugged, turning his attention back to cleaning the dust off of the frayed skin on my arm.
“Helluva mess,” Colonel Reynods said once he got over to us, “how you two holdin’ up?”
“We lived,” Laura said, giving me another look, “but I do really hate being shot and blown up.”
“That’s good,” Colonel Aaron Reynolds said somewhat distractedly, his eyes focused on something on his AR display, square jaw set tight with urgency. “This the biggest one we ever had.”
“You’ve had bombings like this before?” I said wincing as the paramedic applied some kind of ointment to the tender flesh of my arm. I still felt dizzy, but well enough to maintain consciousness.
I zoomed in with my bionic eye, past Reynolds to the destroyed coffee shop some ways down the street. Two bodies in covered tarps lay in the road, my eye display showing their temperature slowly dropping. UGVs busied themselves clearing rubble from the pavement. The Crusaders men that Colonel Reynolds had been speaking with stood facing the rubble, talking to one another. The owner of the coffee shop, an Indian woman, was talking to another security officer. Next to them stood the manager of the road, shouting and demanding when the street would be ready
to open up again. Onlookers approached the rubble, their AR contacts recording the confusion. As long as they weren’t on building property, LoC Security had no fiduciary obligation to hold them back.
“Well,” Reynolds said, his eyes focusing on me for a moment before focusing on his display again, “we’ve had folks cause a ruckus like this before. Used to be The Syndicate, but they’ve mostly gone nonviolent as of late. But there still ain’t no love lost between us and those who view our independence as illegitimate. But nothin’ as organized or violent as this.”
“How many bombings today?” I asked, alarmed, setting my eye’s vision back to normal.
“Two in Cortez,” he said, “two in Durango. Four in Denver. Two in Colorado Springs. One in Pueblo. One in Fort Collins.”
“Christ…how many casualties?”
Aaron shook his head, “so far the counts at a hundred eighty-eight injured, includin’ you two, and twenty-two deceased.” He paused a moment and then said, “One death was Todd Hopkins.”
“The podcaster?”
“Yep,” Aaron said, sighing, “news already hittin’ the CSA sites. They pointin’ the finger at you folks.”
“Will people believe them?”
“Some will,” Aaron said, “those three do,” he signaled to Big Terry.
“Why?” I asked.
“Cuz you lied to ‘em and stole from their bar,” Colonel Reynolds said, “The Crusaders’re mighty irritated. See it as an insult by the forty-eights. But I wager most folks in the LoC will know it’s bullshit.”
“It definitely wasn’t us,” I said, keeping my eyes on his, “the man I chased down...”
“No name yet,” Aaron said, “face is altered with injections and what have you. No chip in ‘is arm. We’re gonna be runnin’ a DNA analysis soon as we get the body over to our facility in Colorado Springs.”
“I think you’ll find he was a Benecorp employee,” I said.
“How d’you figure?” Aaron said.
“I’ve seen a person die like this before,” I said, “trust me. It’s Benecorp.”
“Seeing as you two are some of our clients,” Aaron said, his eyes now focused on me, “and was present to the incident, I’ll keep you informed on developments pertainin’ to your safety and interests. For now, I’d steer clear’uh the Crusaders. LoC Security will stand by our clients, but we ain’t gettin’ in a turf war over this if we can avoid it.” He paused a moment, “you might see your premiums goin’ up if they keep makin’ a stink about it.”
“Thanks,” I said dully, “I appreciate your understanding.”
He gave a single nod and strode away. The paramedic finished bandaging my arm, walking off to help work on the other injured.
Laura gave a sigh, her tired, intoxicated eyes lazily fixed on the rubble as some of the stone settled, one of the spectators having to quickly jump out of the way when a cascade of bricks tumbled down toward him. The rest of the crowd hollered and cheered as the guy dusted himself off, a scowl on his face.
“I was kind of hoping it would hit him,” Laura said, her neutral tone returned, taking her eyes off the rubble to stare downwards at the ground. Mattes of hair on the right side of her head were crusted with dried blood, red streaks down the front of her t-shirt. She had small cuts and burns on her right side, holes torn into the shirt, but it looked like I had caught most of the blast for her.
“I guess they’re putting themselves at that risk,” I said.
“A person can’t walk down the street these days without someone trying to blow them up,” Laura said as she stood up, facing me. “Thank you, though.”
“For what?”
“For caring about me,” a weak smile briefly passed over her lips. “Shall we get going?”
“Of course,” I said, “about caring, I mean. Of course, I, uh…I care about you.”
This time the smile stayed on her lips. I stood up and started walking back toward the house, looking over my shoulder at the rubble. Laura’s hand grabbed onto mind, clasping it in her thin fingers. Once again, I didn’t pull my hand away.
Yukiko greeted Laura and me at the door, looking up at our dusty, bandaged bodies with wide eyes possessing comprehension beyond her years. Laura scooped the toddler off her feet. A motion that appeared affectionate, yet Laura’s face betrayed only drowsiness as the alcohol began wearing off.
“Are you okay?” Masaru asked, limping toward the door from the living room, supporting his weight on the cane, “I just got back from Cheyenne and heard about…”
“It seems like everywhere I go with you people, I end up getting shot or blown up,” Laura said without looking away from Yukiko, who seemed relieved that we weren’t seriously hurt.
“We’re fine,” I said, hobbling into the room. Laura followed close behind.
“CSA social networks are already flooded with arguments,” Masaru said, limping back to the chair he had been sitting in, stepping around Yukiko’s toys.
“Business as usual?” Laura said, sitting down next to me on the couch, dust coming off of our clothes.
“Dirty,” Yukiko squeaked, sitting between us on the couch, examining the gray dust that had rubbed off Laura onto her.
“Some people saying it was us, others saying it wasn’t, some saying it was but that we must have had a good reason…are you sure you two are alright?”
“We’re fine,” I said as Akira came up from the basement and walked into the room, “this was Benecorp. I know it was them. It had to be.”
Akira and Masaru listened while I told them what happened. Masaru looked pained when I mentioned Todd Hopkins being one of the victims, running a hand through his short hair and then resting his head in his palm. Akira was as troubled as I was about the manner in which my suspect died.
“You think they were enslaved by Benecorp?” Akira asked after I’d finished, only then walking all the way into the room, but still not sitting down.
“I don’t know where they’d get these people,” I said, “might be political prisoners of some sort. They might not have even been citizens in the Benecorp controlled areas. Without a chip or facial recognition, we’ll have to wait for the DNA analysis to come back.”
“Did you get any tissue samples?” Akira asked, but the look in her face told me she knew I hadn’t.
“No.”
“He might have splattered something on us,” Laura said.
“LoC Security could take weeks to get to it,” Akira said.
“This attack seems like a pretty big deal,” I said, “they’ll probably give it a high priority.”
Akira didn’t respond. She looked distracted. I imagined it was more about her wishing she could have done the analysis herself so she could see the raw data rather than just wait to hear what the security firm had to say. But something else entirely occupied her mind.
Masaru shook his head, “Todd Hopkins…What a damn shame. He was a good guy. Behind us all the way.”
“Good to know someone is,” I said, immediately feeling a ping a regret at Masaru’s irritated expression.
Not the time or place, I thought, I’m still a bit drunk.
Or maybe its your right hemisphere speaking, Evita said.
“Probably why they wanted to get him,” I said, looking away from Masaru, “he was popular, even on CSA mesh networks. He probably would have defended us. Would have had you back on to talk about it.”
Masaru nodded, “Now it just looks like…”
“Like we’re a bunch of assholes,” Laura finished.
I shook my head, feeling anger fueled by alcohol. “Fucking Benecorp. They’re after us.”
Masaru raised his eyebrows. “You think this was personal?”
“We killed Jiang Wei,” I said, “and then waltzed right through their territory. I’d say they’re probably pretty pissed.”
Masaru looked like he wanted to say something, but remained silent.
“How is this affecting us?” I asked, “I mean, as far as publicity goes?”
Masaru took a deep breath, “the official CSA story is that it was us. They’re saying our group is enormous, dangerous. That the LoC ‘elites’ are backing us.”
“Our Easter mission will gain us support,” I assured them.
For a moment everyone remained quiet. The looks in their faces were a mix of hopeful and skeptical. Akira remained distracted, looking as if she hadn’t heard anything from the exchange. Masaru ran a hand through his hair again, genuinely distraught. Laura now had Yukiko leaning against her, the toddler’s head resting on Laura’s left arm with a neutral expression. Laura, however, looked even more listless and detached than usual, barely noticing the toddler poking at one of the spots of dried blood on her shirt.
Benecorp cannot succeed in making us the bad guys.
Without a word, Akira walked away and went back into the basement.
Chapter 15
“Test,” Masaru said, “is it working?”
The Vidcaster GUI on my bionic eye displayed normal sound levels. I nodded to Masaru and leaned back into the foldout chair. I scratched at the gauze wrapped around my arm, wincing at the resulting pain. Despite the cold ointment I applied before coming to help, my whole right side hurt.
Masaru turned the living room into a makeshift recording studio. A four-by-four card table with the small Vidcaster box and two microphones on arms clipped to the edge on opposite sides. Two tripods over my shoulders aimed cameras to either side of the table, one pointing to Masaru and the other his two guests. All for a podcast he to be aired on several mesh networks in the LoC, the Republic, and even into CSA and PRA territories.
His first episode is an interview with a couple rescued children. Masaru picked them up along with Liana, bringing them over from Deidre’s. The first was a fifteen-year-old boy stunted by the anti-growth and anti-puberty drugs and the second a sixteen-year-old girl who looked her age. Both were in rough shape, gaunt, clothes draping from bony frames, hair thin and stringy. A result of Shift withdrawals. The effect was dramatic, making them look like wraiths. Liana and I helped them into the house as they leaned on crutches, their legs too weak to hold them up. The girl smiled appreciatively at me, revealing a mouth half-emptied of teeth.
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