by Liam Clay
The first soldier appears out of the gloom, a darker shape against the pillar she’s using for cover. I walk right up to her unnoticed. When my blade slides through the rubber neck of her mask, I get a noseful of stale sweat, blood and oxidized metal. But as usual I feel no empathy, no revulsion, no... anything really, as the woman shudders, voids her bowels and dies. It is an inhuman response, and one that I’ve been hiding from these past seven years. But even curses can have their use. Instinct directs my feet, and before my conscience can catch up, I’ve reached the next target.
This one hears me coming. He stops firing and turns, probably expecting to greet one of his own. Instead he gets steel in the guts - three, four, five times. This second kill pulls me further into the zone, and I float toward my next victim. There are two this time, and much as I’d like to remain silent, the rifle is the safer option here. Both of them go down without getting off a shot.
A figure appears to my left, sprinting straight for me. I hurl my knife. The spin is off and I hit him with the handle, but the impact is enough to make him stumble. I bury a few rounds in his body as he falls past me. Footfalls bring me around again, but this time it’s Delez and a few of his guys.
“Wow.” He says, taking in my handiwork. “You really are a crazy fuck.” I dart away into the soup before my lizard brain tries to kill him too.
Five hasn’t moved since I left him. A dead Underworlder lies at his feet, a tributary of blood inching toward him across the floor. I unhook the corpse’s mask and take it for myself.
“Five, we need to go.”
He looks up at me with no hint of recognition. Not knowing what else to do, I haul him to his feet by the armpits. He doesn’t resist, and we return to the others, me supporting the majority of our combined weight.
The fight, when we find it again, is all but over. Three golden soldiers are crowded together against a wall, surrounded by Delez and his remaining men. Casualties from both sides lie all around us. Of the three living foes, two don’t look like they’ll last long. One is missing a foot, and the other’s oxygen tubes have been severed at the neck. A low, angry hum emanates from him, like a hard drive coolant fan on its last legs.
“We should bring them back to the Kaleidoscope for questioning.”
I’m surprised to find that this suggestion has come from me. Delez considers briefly, and then shakes his head. “No can do. These bastards just killed a lot of my friends, and besides, they’d be dead weight the whole way back.” He raises his firearm.
My conscience - almost caught up now - wants to stop him. These men have dropped their weapons and surrendered, after all. But does that make them more deserving of life than those who fought to the end? Or does it just make killing them more unpleasant? If Five has an opinion, he isn’t sharing it. His eyes are half closed, breath coming in gasps despite the mask I’ve given him.
Delez fires three bursts in quick succession, and just like that it’s done. For some reason I force myself to look at the result, as if these corpses are somehow different from the others I’ve seen today. And created. Then I glance at the survivors from our group. Aside from a general verticality, there isn’t much to separate them from the deceased.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Delez says.
CHAPTER 10
The next hour is dedicated to the physical. Half-carrying Five down multiple flights of stairs. Salvaging the few undamaged skiffs in the Topsider convoy and disentangling them from the detritus. Followed by the poling itself. No one says anything for a long time. Seems pointless.
We’re still a few blocks from our destination when Delez calls a halt. It’s obvious why. Although this canal leads straight to the Kaleidoscope, a fog-diffused light show is blocking our path forward. The Constant’s stronghold is under siege.
“What’s the plan, boss?” One of the Fractal’s men asks. “Ram these fuckers in the ass, go out in a blaze of glory?” He says the words bravely enough - almost shouts them, in fact - but I’m sure that like me, he hopes we do nothing of the sort.
“No.” Delez replies. “If we had more guys maybe, but as it stands we wouldn’t do much good. Better to find a way onto the lake and help man the casino’s defenses.”
“But how are we going to get there?” Again, the man asks the question loudly, and I realize that he’s bleeding from the ears and probably can’t hear himself speak. “You can bet the Topsiders will have every access point cut off.” He finishes.
“Girders.” Five says suddenly, drawing all eyes. “If we can find a way through it, we will come out right at the lake’s edge.”
“That’s a big fucking if.” The deaf thug points out. “I hear there are no proper paths, it smells like a swamp, and the locals aren’t exactly big on guests.”
“You got something better up your sleeve?” Delez demands. There is an extended silence. “Thought not.” He turns to Five. “Alright chief, lead the way.”
But my friend’s pilot light has gone out again. When he doesn’t respond, the Fractal turns to me. “How about you?”
Considering my reputation and the things this guy just saw me do, I can’t believe he’s even speaking to me, never mind asking for advice. Then I remind myself that these guys trade in violence just like I used to - and unlike me, they don’t appear to hate themselves for it. So I decide to play the part.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” I say. “One: find an entrance into Girders that isn’t swarming with those beige twats. Two: use the old, ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’ adage to get some locals on our side. Three: have them guide us through their weird town, or kibbutz, or whatever the hell they call it. And four: get back to the Kaleidoscope and start blasting hell out of the aforementioned beige twats.”
Delez strokes his chin.
“Simple but effective. I like it.”
At the next intersection, we turn down a street overhung with washing lines, which leads to a courtyard hemmed in by a u-shaped building of ten stories. An exoskeleton of abandoned scaffolding encloses the structure, sheet plastic dangling from its rusted bars. And on the building’s far side, Girders waits.
Looking at it, I am reminded of a nature show I once watched on coral reef. A lopsided confusion of corroded iron and aluminum sheeting, Girders is home to an untold multitude of life: from scavengers and creatures that lie in wait, to the weary dispossessed looking for a place to hide. Tarps have been tied over much of the exterior for privacy; string lights flicker fitfully in the gloom.
As we tie our skiffs to the scaffolded building, a haunting, ethereal music drifts down to us. It is part melodic jazz, part religious ululation, and like nothing I’ve ever heard. It reminds me that although our society has become homogenous on the surface, deep undercurrents of culture remain, individualizing even as they divide.
Shit, these spirals have me philosophizing like an undergrad.
We climb up to the roof only to find it caved in. A series of bars arch over the hole, but they are set widely apart and we are forced to swing across rung by rung. By the time we reach the safety of a platform on the far side, I’m breathing hard and Five is struggling for air. Then we stop to stare in fascination at Girders. In the entire Underworld, only the Prison has more mystery attached to it.
My mind struggles to make sense of what I’m seeing. There are crank driven elevators, giant hammocks, hanging bungalows and doors that lead nowhere. Every surface seems to be slanted, and the makeshift homes have been built under, over and around their neighbors. Not far from us, a solitary rope hangs down from a beam much higher up. Its lower end has been tied off to the scaffold railing.
“Who’s first?” Delez asks, pointing to the rope.
I decide to volunteer. After spitting on my hands (something I’ve seen people do in movies) I swing safely across, landing in a net fashioned from salvaged electrical cable. Then I throw the rope back over and settle in to wait.
Five crosses without issue, much to my relief. But the deaf thug is le
ss lucky. He doesn’t make a sound as his grip slips, and before any of us can react, he’s gone. I move to the hammock’s edge but there’s nothing to see - just a gently swinging rope and a long, dark drop. Delez is the first to turn away.
And so with this latest death looming in our minds, we enter the lunacy of Girders. If this place was built according to any kind of plan, the fall to earth has mutated it beyond recognition. I am soon using all four limbs to navigate the close-set beams. The air has a rich, fungal smell, but it is not altogether unpleasant, strange as that sounds.
At first, it seems as though we are taking one of many possible routes through the maze. But I eventually realize this to be an illusion. We are merely navigating the spaces between pods: three dimensional neighborhoods protected by cocoons of steel meshwork and netting. Wherever we’re going, the choice is not in our hands.
I begin to sense the presence of watchers. Nothing concrete, just shadows at the edge of sight accompanied by the sounds of stealthy movement. Emerging from a particularly dense section of beams, we reach a bright open area - like a sunlit grove amidst suffocating woods. It even has a proper floor built of scratched fiberglass. Five and I have fallen behind by this time, and we find the others there waiting for us, taking the opportunity to stretch tired legs. We step out to join them, and the floor drops away under our feet.
A short fall ends in a tangled mass of bodies. The net we’ve been caught in is made of clear plastic loops, like a bunch of six-pack holders woven together. The false floor closes as quickly as it opened, leaving us in unadorned darkness.
I start to giggle.
To myself at first, then louder, until I’m laughing at the top of my lungs. Five joins in, and soon the entire group is in hysterics. It’s just so damned funny: all of us armed to the teeth, wedged together in the dark like so many sardines in a can.
“Don’t mind us!” I shout into the black once I’ve caught my breath. “We’re just having a bad day, is all.”
It is a woman who answers. “Who are you, and what is your business in Girders?” The sound resonates through the enclosed space so that it seems to come from everywhere at once.
“Most of us work for the Form Constant.” I tell our captor. “We’re supposed to be protecting her, but she’s inside the Kaleidoscope, which is under siege and blockaded on every side but this one.”
“And who is this enemy you fight - these golden men?”
“They’re Topsiders. Apparently they think we attacked them.”
“And did you?” The question isn’t quite an accusation.
“Not any of us personally, I can promise you that. We’re just worker bees.” I take a breath and plunge forward. “Look, we just need to pass through your home so we can try to save ours. We would have asked for permission, but time is a little short what with everyone trying to kill us and all.”
“Very well.” She says at last. “We will take you where you need to go.”
Relief inspires levity. “Sweet, would you mind cutting us down then? I think my foot is wedged up someone’s ass.”
“Nah, take your time,” Delez calls out. “It’s my ass and I’m kind of enjoying it!”
And then we’re falling again, this time onto an angled surface that levels slowly into the horizontal. We slide to a stop as pot lamps snap on overhead, revealing a bowl shaped chamber unlike anything I’ve seen in Girders so far. Our hosts peel away the netting and step back, giving us time to collect ourselves.
To call the (Girderites, Girderonians?) dirty would be like describing Topsiders as narcissistic: a colossal understatement. They are probably wearing clothes, but it’s impossible to tell under all that mud. A rich nut brown run through with whorls of livid green, the loamy substance covers every inch of their bodies. The fungal aroma has increased tenfold with their proximity as well. And strangest of all, none of them are wearing masks.
A woman steps forward. Although not young, she remains lean and sinuous, fingers musically elegant. Her animal grace is somehow accentuated by the mud caking her from head to toe.
“My name is Ella.” She says, and I recognize her as the speaker in the dark. “Come with me.”
She leads us out of the chamber and down a corridor that cuts, arrow straight, through the heart of Girders. I am directly behind her, Delez and his crew following, with Five bringing up the rear. Despite our current situation, I find myself fascinated by these people.
“So this is how the locals travel, huh?”
“It is. Girders may look confusing to the untrained eye, but we have lived here for decades - some since before the Fall. More than enough time to remold it to our purposes.”
“What to do you mean, before the Fall?”
Her shrug creates hairline fractures in the mud caked to her shoulders. “I mean that when this place fell from on high, not everyone died. Some survived and, hailing the event as a miracle, vowed never to leave these beams again. My ex-husband’s father was one such. Ven - my ex - found religion in the event too, but he took his beliefs elsewhere, vowing to build his own sacred place in the wilds beyond Opacity. They never got on well, in truth.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And what do you think?”
“Me? I think the survivors were simply lucky. But Girders is as good a place to live as any, and better than most. Internal crime is all but unknown, and the only outsiders who come here are loners, out of options and desperate. These we either welcome or turn away, depending on their dispositions.” She glances back at me. “Yours is the first armed group to enter in many years.”
I mull this over. “And, ah, what’s with the mud, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Another slight laugh, like water flowing over stones. “That is a trade secret, I’m afraid. Suffice to say that we have our reasons, and that they are functional rather than belief driven. But tell me, what is happening out there? Are the Topsiders truly bent on wiping us out?”
“That’s what they want us to think, but I have my doubts.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, they’re using non-deadly force for the most part, and have been capturing us whenever they can. I don’t understand it myself.”
Looking past Ella, I see a sharp turn in the corridor ahead. We round it, and the battle for the Kaleidoscope unfolds below us.
As anticipated, the enemy has occupied all three of the lake’s liquid emanations. Machine guns set a tempo under sporadic small arms fire, punctuated by the occasional boom of a grenade. The NGO Strip and Avenue Bazaar locks appear to be holding, but the situation at the Perfumed Canal is less encouraging, and nearer at hand as well. The Topsiders have created a floating siege tower out of stacked skiffs, which they are poling slowly toward the concrete barrier. As we watch, the tower comes into contact with a submerged mine. But although the explosion turns the tetrised boats into charred confetti, the soldiers continue to push the whole mess forward, drawing steadily closer to their goal.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ella asks softly.
“Not particularly, no. But my daughter and her mother are inside the casino.”
She nods gravely, and then gestures to a steel beam jutting out in front of us. “Do you see the rope hanging down just there?”
I squint into the dim light. “You mean that flimsy piece of string?”
“The very same. Your best chance is to shimmy down it until you reach that stack of freight containers.” She points to the objects in question. “From there, you’ll want to jump into the lake-”
“But that’s a three story drop!”
“-making sure to gain enough depth to swim under the wreckage of that old crane.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t-”
“Then it’s just a quick paddle to the Perfumed Lock, where you can aid in its defense.”
“Are you serious? A professional diver would be lucky to pull that off!”
She shrugs. “You asked for my help. So there it is.”
“I k
now, and thank you.” I reply with a pained smile. “Complaining is just part of this coping mechanism I’ve been working on.”
“Ah.”
“Hey, what’s the hold up?” Delez calls out. “You two making plans to meet up after this is over?”
“I asked but she’s into blonds!” I yell back. Ella gives me a doubtful look, to which I reply, “Sorry, coping mechanism again. Also I’m rolling pretty hard right now. And I know this is pushing it, but can I ask you for another favor?”
“You can ask, yes.”
“My friend, the one missing an ear, just spent too long without a mask. I don’t think he’s up for coming with us. Can he stay here with you for a while?”
She turns away from me, and I prepare to receive her refusal.
“Very well. He can remain with us for the time being.”
“Thank you.” I say with relief. “I’ve already put him through too much as it is, and knowing he’s safe will make what I’m about to do a lot easier.”
“If what you say is true, I don’t know if any of us will be safe after today. But we will protect him as if he were one of our own.”
“That’s all I could ask for.” I say, meaning every word of it. Then I turn to face the beam. “Okay, wish me luck.”
I force myself to take that first, excruciating step. Disaster fails to strike. Encouraged, I set heel to toe and repeat until I reach the end of the beam. Then I lie out at full length, swing my legs over the edge and begin to descend.
I am hideously aware of being visible to anyone who happens to look up. No one does, however, and I reach the freight containers without incident. But I’ve only just let go of the rope when a heat wave shudders down my back, and suddenly I’m flat on my face, cheek pressed against the container roof. I roll over by degrees, dreading what I will see.