The Dark Descent

by William Oday

  “Wait a second!” The Watch Sergeant shouted as he held up both hands, the pistol now aimed at the ceiling. “Nobody has to die here. We can figure this out.” He looked between Skain and me. “First, I’ll need you both to surrender your weapons.”

  I had no intention of doing that, until I felt the hard metal of a muzzle tapping the side of my head. One of the watch soldiers had snuck around the other side of the desk and I hadn’t seen her coming. I should’ve.

  But I didn’t.

  It was all I could do to remain standing. Peak tactical awareness wasn’t remotely feasible.

  “Give me the rifle, sir.”

  The Watch Sergeant’s small mouth twisted into a scowl. “Surrender the weapon or I will order her to shoot you.”

  “Okay. Easy now,” I said as I handed it over, stowing the self-reproach for the moment.

  “Your turn,” the Watch Sergeant said to Skain.

  “I’ll expect this back pronto,” he said as he flipped the pistol around and handed it over.

  The sergeant tucked it into his belt. He spoke over his shoulder. “Corporal Hook, bring me a DAP.”

  The other soldier grabbed one off the counter and hustled over. He dropped it in the his superior’s hand before beating a quick retreat.

  The sergeant turned toward me with the DAP held out. “I’m going to need you to log in to your personal account.”

  Not good.

  Everyone knew identical twins had different fingerprints because the patterns are not solely determined by the shared genes. Numerous environmental factors in the womb such as blood pressure, physical positioning and nutrition also play a part.

  And that meant this game was coming to a close.

  I walked over, my brain whirring through possibilities. Trying to find the one that would succeed.

  Either I wasn’t thinking creatively enough or there weren’t enough steps to afford sufficient time to consider. Whichever the case, I arrived next to the Watch Sergeant and hadn’t come up with anything.

  He flicked the screen on. “Place a finger on the screen.”

  I wasn’t going to do that. There would be no point. But I still hadn’t come up with anything. So, I went with the next best thing to a well-considered course of action.

  An ill-considered one.

  Maybe not exactly the next best thing. But it was something.

  And something was all I had left.

  I sprang at Skain. Reaching for his head with every intention of ripping it off.

  55

  Unfortunately, I didn’t see the fist heading toward my temple until it was too late.

  I tried to slip to the side, out of the path of a lightning fast right cross. It blurred more than it swung. It went from point A to point B directly, skipping the wasted motion between.

  I managed to turn, a little, so it hammered into my skull behind my ear instead of directly on the temple.

  Not that the outcome was any better.

  His strike landed like a sledgehammer.

  A bright light flashed in my vision.

  The next thing I knew I was on my back on the ground with Skain on top of me, two big hands twisted into my shirt, shaking me violently.

  His eyes burned with rage. Spit flecked from his lips as he shouted. “What’s wrong with you, brother?

  I fired a punch up at him, but he batted it away and slammed my head on the concrete floor.

  White flashes popped in and out of my vision. My body felt far away. I didn’t miss it. It was simply a thing I used to own but no longer needed.

  “We’ve got ourselves a proper fight, ladies and gentleman!”

  Crypto. Who else?

  “I’ll put fifty credits on Skain Number Two! Anyone take the bet?”

  Skain Number Two?

  Wasn’t that my brother? As in not me?

  Was he betting I was going to lose?

  “Brother, we are on the same side here,” Skain said as he held me pinned down. “You’ve brought him to us, just as you said you would.”

  His words reached me. My body pulled me closer, dragging me back with a buzzing energy.

  When did I say that?

  “What do you mean?” I asked. The words came out hoarse and stuttering.

  “This was your plan, brother. General Curtis and I were with you from the beginning. It was brilliant. To become a fugitive. To make contact with the criminal underlord known as Crypto. To gain his trust and to eventually bring him in. You’ve succeeded, brother. Once again.”

  Despite his equal size and strength and appearance, I saw the adoration in his eyes. The look a younger sibling has for the older.

  I saw the truth of the words there.

  “Lies,” I said.

  Our eyes locked, his gaze hard and heavy. “You know it’s the truth.”

  What I knew was that the hollow emptiness in my core once again burned with feverish intensity. The final two pills having stoked a smoldering fire and brought it raging back to life.

  And I also knew that his words gave my building anger more fuel. A rage that required expression.

  I shot out a looping hammer fist that he managed to partially block as it landed.

  But it still landed. And hard.

  His head snapped to the side and he crashed over.

  I rolled over on top of him and came down with an elbow, aiming to drive his head through the floor.

  He covered up and parried away.

  A few more elbows, but none broke through.

  I roared like a wild beast, a predator in the throes of the hunt. Of the kill.

  Hot blood surged through my limbs. Like fire. Like lava. Air entered my lungs in great billowing gasps that made my body crackle with energy.

  With power.

  It was intoxicating.

  And distracting.

  I paid for that instant of inattention.

  A knife hand chop shot up at my throat and I only just tucked my chin before the glancing blow sent me into a spasm of coughing.

  Skain bucked and shoved with both hands and I flew off and rolled across the floor.

  We were both on our feet and circling an instant later.

  His eyes gleamed. His nostrils flared as he sucked in oxygen. Two huge hands held out in front, a wrestler’s stance ready to go high, go low, go wherever was needed to win.

  I realized with a start that I mirrored the posture.

  And the anticipation.

  We’d done this before. Many times. Though perhaps this time had a deadly edge not present before.

  Skain’s legs tensed as he launched at me.

  I did the same, with equal speed and fury.

  We crashed together like two boulders. Both hitting and getting hit. Opposing and implacable forces. And both refusing to back down.

  Hands grappled for position. Straining shoulders and biceps. Sculpted backs tight with contraction, exerting pressure and resisting it.

  Our heads nearly touching. Our eyes connected through an invisible cord stronger than the thickest bone. A searing intensity that demanded the other’s submission, and yet longed for defiance.

  A surge of power with whiplash force exploded in my chest. The sensation so intense my breathing stuttered.

  The pills.

  Skain flashed a jab, but I batted it away with ease. He drove forward locking his hands around my torso.

  I dug in the double under hooks and dropped low to spread my base.

  He let go only to drop lower and regain the hold. He lifted and arched backward while turning at the same time.

  I went along for the ride. Because there was no way not to.

  The move concluded with the expected outcome.

  He slammed me to the floor and drove down into my gut with his inside shoulder.

  The move ended as physics demanded, but the result still came as a surprise.

  I should’ve been stunned, gasping for breath, debilitated. But I shrugged off the thunderous impact like a trifle, pulling him do
wn and spinning to the side at the same time.

  I landed on top and even before I’d established position, I hammered down an elbow at where his face would soon be.

  It arrived as expected, just as the blow did.

  The hard corner of my elbow smashed into his cheek, splitting it wide open. Crimson red poured out. Pale yellow bone shone through.

  But that didn’t faze him.

  A blow that would’ve killed most men did little more than earn a brief hitch in his rebuttal.

  But I was ready this time.

  I parried the upcoming fingers, rigid and straight and spearing for my throat.

  A parry can be more than a simple defensive move. It can be the beginning of the next attack.

  Already behind his guard, I smashed another elbow into his face. This one bouncing his head off the unforgiving concrete.

  I postured up and I dropped a bomb that smashed through his flailing defenses.

  Lit gasoline scorched through my veins as I rained down blows.

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  Right.

  A reciprocating machine with devastating effect.

  I didn’t stop.

  I should’ve. But I didn’t.

  His face was a pulp of torn flesh and gushing blood.

  I didn’t stop until a lightning bolt hit me in the chest. A devastating shock that arced through my limbs, fingers and toes.

  I jolted over and fell to the ground next to him.

  I lay on the floor, paralyzed, staring up at the ceiling. An invisible vice squeezed my chest. So tight I knew the ribs would splinter.

  “Drop your weapons!”

  Muscles still locked up, I glanced over and saw Crypto holding my rifle, pointing it at the Watch Sergeant and his two subordinates. The weapon looked comical in his hands. But he moved it with an easy grace.

  “Do it now or you die!”

  All three soldiers laid their guns on the floor.

  Air seeped into my chest, a quick shallow breath, easing the crushing force, a little.

  Crypto retrieved the sergeant’s pistol and walked over, standing above me with a look of pain and anger twisting his face. “So this was all a ruse?” He shook his head. “We were partners. I trusted you. My mistake.”

  The muzzle of the rifle left the soldiers and rotated over to my forehead. The cold metal ring pressed into my skin, burning like a brand.

  Crypto’s colder eyes, unblinking as he prepared to fire.

  Then, they blinked.

  “I should kill you.” He pulled the rifle up and back to covering the soldiers and set the pistol on my chest. “But I won’t. You saved my life. I have now given you yours. Consider the debt paid.”

  He moved toward the exit to the rest of the Security level, and then paused at the threshold. Without looking back, he spoke. “We could’ve been a good team.” He shook his head slightly. A disappointed acknowledgement of my betrayal.

  “Goodbye, Scout.”

  56

  The Watch Sergeant’s eyes opened wide with the slow pace of his dawning reckoning. That I was Scout. That I was a wanted fugitive. His decision-making finally reached critical mass and he pointed at me. “Arrest him!”

  His subordinates didn’t move.

  That was because I had the pistol covering all three as I struggled to my feet.

  The pressure in my chest had lessened the tiniest fraction. Just enough to sip air as if through a miles long straw.

  I pushed up, my back scraping against the wall.

  Was that a heart attack?

  My chest throbbed and it was a battle to breathe. But battle I would. I pointed the gun at the sergeant. “Grab their weapons.”

  He looked confused. “Why?”

  “Do what I say and you’ll live longer.”

  He snatched the guns off the counter.

  I kept the pistol leveled at his chest. “Don’t try anything stupid.” I fanned the pistol toward the corridor leading to the cell block. “Take me to Martinez.”

  I didn’t care if what Skain had said was true or not. I’d come for Martinez and that hadn’t changed.

  “You won’t get away with this,” he said.

  “Walk,” I said as I lumbered over and jabbed the barrel into his back.

  He led us down the hallway, passed the cell where this all began, and kept going. All the way to the end of the block.

  We stopped at the thick plexiglass front.

  My heart squeezed tighter, a sinking sadness in the pit of my stomach.

  Martinez was strapped to a gurney. Black bands restraining her at the ankles, the thighs, the waist, the chest, the neck, the biceps, the wrists. Completely immobilized. Unable to fight back against the barbarous torture.

  Her upper half bare and beaten. Dark purple bruises wrapped around her ribs like dappled cloth. Her head limp to the side. One eye swollen shut. Lumpy bruising disfiguring her face.

  And the lines.

  The criss-crossing lines.

  Like pen strokes crossing off tasks on a to-do list.

  Cuts from a fine blade. Hundreds of them.

  Like the hatched strokes of an artist. One who had skill and enthusiasm for the work.

  “Open it,” I said.

  He thought for a second of refusing, but then wisely complied.

  I shoved him inside to the back corner. “Sit!”

  He sat.

  “Stay!”

  He nodded.

  My chest trembled. From rage, or anguish. From both and more as I took in the extent of her brutal treatment.

  The things we do to one other.

  For real or imagined gain. For being on the wrong side of another’s right. For a system where cruelty becomes the norm.

  The ensuing horror. The evil that lurks in the shadowed corners of our souls. The fall from our better selves.

  I set the pistol on the gurney and then leaned on it for support like a feeble old man. I circled around and gently touched her misshapen cheek. Her lips split open and open mouth revealing the jagged edge of a cracked tooth.

  There were people that deserved such treatment. But she was not one of them.

  I undid the straps, one at a time, my heart breaking for this woman who had become my friend. My protector. And here she lay having given everything.

  She stirred.

  A groan.

  I undid the last strap and circled around to her head.

  One bloodshot eye fluttered open and found me. “Scout?”

  “Yes. I’m here. I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  The single eye glistened with a wet sheen. A tear leaked out of the corner and pooled in the hollow there.

  “Can you sit up?” I asked.

  The slightest nod.

  I ripped my shirt off, buttons bouncing across the floor, and laid it over her. Then carefully helped her up.

  Facing each other, eyes connecting. Both of mine to the one of hers.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “This is my fault.”

  The extent to which she didn’t yet know. And I didn’t want her ever to discover.

  She shook her head and groaned. “No,” she replied in a whisper. “My choice. Mine.”

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible for my chest to squeeze any tighter, but it did.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” I said.

  One corner of her broken mouth curled upward. She looked to the side, behind me.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  A voice I recognized. A man that deserved to die. Or better, deserved to live and be treated like Martinez had.

  The unmistakable click of a safety being released.

  “Move slowly if you want to live.”

  I caught Martinez’s eye and glanced down at the side of the table while raising my hands.

  Her gaze didn’t move, didn’t flinch in the slightest, but I knew she understood.

  “Easy now!”
r />   I turned slowly around.

  General Curtis stood there with a pistol pointed at my chest, a satisfied smile squatting on his broad face.

  “You didn’t have to do that to her,” I said.

  “I did what I had to do. I will stop at nothing to ensure the security of this community.”

  “That’s your story, huh?”

  His head tilted to the side. “So, it’s true? You’ve actually lost your memory?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Because I couldn’t tell if you were improvising that part of the operation or not.”

  “Skain said it was our plan all along. The bombing. Me going undercover to get Crypto.”

  “It was,” he said with satisfaction. “I saw what you did to your brother back there. I must admit to being impressed. In the state that you’re in to accomplish that. Bravo. You were always just a little bit more than him. Stood a little taller, fought a little harder, went a little further. It’s part of the reason I chose you for the operation. If anyone could pull it off, you could.”

  He looked at Martinez. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Corporal Martinez. You were not randomly assigned your role. Your deep appreciation for Scout’s actions surrounding your brother’s death is well known to me. And you played your part perfectly. Even here at the end with the intel you’ve surrendered.”

  The Watch Sergeant started to rise. “Sir, I’m sorry to—”

  Two shots and he crumpled to the floor.

  The pistol was back on me before I could act.

  “An unfortunate necessity,” the general said.

  The floor lurched under my feet.

  My knees buckled and I grabbed onto the gurney to stay upright. It took a minute to get my bearings, for the floor to stop swaying. “Who planted the bombs in the White House?”

  He laughed. “Forgive me, but this amnesia of yours has created such a curious case of misunderstanding. It’s hard not to be entertained, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Scout, it’s simple. Obvious, even. You did. You planted the bombs. You designed the security and so knew better than anyone how to circumvent it.”