by T. C. Edge
I tried to keep my head down, blend in among them, but they grew more violent, drawing the attention of the nearby crowd. I glanced back, and noticed the gaunt-faced man approaching. His hollow eyes were perusing, searching. They drew towards the group of hissing, scratching scavengers, spotting me among them.
Damn it.
I assessed my options in a flash, and came upon the only one that made sense. Turning to the alley, I scuttled down it, as a couple of the wilder scavengers took chase. I rose to my full height, yet kept to a human pace. I could hear two sets of footsteps chasing me down, spitting words as they went.
"This neighbourhood is mine! Piss off to the Eastbends! I catch you, I kill you!"
I guess she must have been the leader of the group.
I gave her words no mind, but picked up my pace just a little bit, enough at least to outrun her and the larger boy alongside her. I could hear their footsteps fading, her words ringing out behind me.
"I see you again around here, and you're dead. You understand me! De..."
Her words shut off abruptly, swallowed into the silence.
I flashed my eyes back and saw her toppling to the floor, knocked out or dead I couldn't tell. Her larger ally was also down, lying in a heap of excess flesh and rugged clothes.
And standing above them, the hollow-eyed man, staring at me down the alley.
I held my ground for just a second, our gazes locking.
My blood surged with adrenaline, clouding my mind, betraying my judgement.
My first thought was to run, but something stopped me, some impulse deep inside. It called out to me, the voice of my people.
Enough. No more running.
I turned, fully, to face him, as his thin lips broke into an horrific grin. His teeth were part metal, forged into fangs. They seemed to extend as his grin grew larger, his eyes widening, black within his skull.
He shifted, one shoulder and then the next, and his coat began to slip to the damp stone floor, revealing his upper body. His frame was unveiled in all its terrible glory; grotesque, inhuman. On his hips, metallic holsters folded out from his part bionic, part human frame, doing so by mental command. One held a pistol, the other a twelve inch serrated blade. He reached with a bionic arm to the blade and drew it to the light, glinting in the gloom.
His other arm remained mostly human, his legs I couldn't tell. I'd seen many Reapers before, but mostly on TV, and never like this. He stared at me, eyes like a shark, eagerly anticipating the kill.
And yes, that's what this was. He wasn't going to take me in. He'd worked out what I was already, and wanted me for himself.
He took a single pace forward, and still I stood my ground. In my head, a part of me screamed - run, Paige, what the hell are you doing! Run!
I didn't listen.
I didn't run.
If I turned now, he'd only shoot me in the back. I had no choice but to hold my ground.
I drew a breath, ready to fight, and slipped my hand into my jacket. The feel of my pistol was comforting. I ran my thumb along the circular switch, and without looking, set it to 'kill'.
I took a step forward, ready to face my end if I must. My heart rushed, yet a calm spread through me. Terrifying though this was, it also felt right. We were mortal enemies, the Reapers and the Variants. It felt like it was meant to be.
I nodded to myself, and took another pace forward.
And just as I did, the alleyway flashed with a sudden, bright light.
10
My eyes burned against the abrupt brightness, exploding from just beside the Reaper.
I raised my hand on instinct, shutting my eyes tight against the golden blur. I could hear a frantic explosion of activity. Grunting. Clashing. The sound of blades connecting.
I blinked hurriedly, staggering to the side of the alley and leaning against the wall to gather my bearings. Two blurred shapes came into view ahead, engaged in close quarter combat; the Reaper, joined by a figure in black, fighting to the death.
I staggered forwards, blinking fiercely as my eyes began to clear. The man in black wore a hood on his head, his coat large and loose, flapping as he fought. I scrunched my nose at the sight, confused.
The drunkard who'd knocked into me just now? What the...
"Get the hell out of here, Paige. Go!"
The voice ripped from the lips of the drunkard, clear as day, loud and forceful. Before I even saw his face, I knew.
It wasn't a drunkard.
It was Ford.
I ran immediately, charging at full pace. But not away.
Right towards them.
"Paige! No!"
The Reaper flashed backwards, driving away from Ford with unnatural speed. His eyes were still blinking heavily, black pits coming and going. They turned and looked right at me. His mild, unpleasant grin had become something far worse. Menacing. Soulless. They were the eyes of a creature designed to kill.
I drew my pistol immediately and took a shot at him, the bullet spitting out silently and hunting him down. He saw it coming in time, darting backwards, hitting the wall and cracking the stone. I prepared to pepper his position, but he lunged back towards Ford, forcing me to stop from firing. Ford spun, trying to create distance, as the Reaper flew at him with his blade.
I followed them both as they re-engaged, blades clashing once more. It become clear that Ford had genetically enhanced speed at least, his movement unnaturally quick as he worked to get through the Reaper's defences. But his enemy was alert to it, his bionically upgraded body built for speed as well. Some even had internal interfaces and computers, capable of reading an enemy's fighting patterns, analysing muscle movement and other outputs in real time.
Essentially, that meant one thing - they'd know what you were going to do, before you even did it. And then counter in the most effective and efficient way.
I had no idea if this Reaper had that function, but if he did, Ford's flash grenade had seemed to have scrambled his circuits somehow. His movements were erratic, his defences beginning to open up. I watched as Ford saw an opening and sent his dagger right towards the man's chest, plunging up into his right shoulder and between his bionic exo-armour.
It might have been a lucky shot, or a precise one, I couldn't tell. Either way, it was enough to put the Reaper on the back foot.
I saw the change now, as his black eyes showed concern, and he turned his gaze down the alleyway. Ford saw it too, that sudden shift from attack to defence, from the desire to kill, to escape and fight another day.
The Reaper snarled, blood now gushing from his still-human shoulder. His bionic hand was gripping at it, trying to stem the flow. Those black eyes turned up the alley instead, sensing a path past me. He took the decision to try me, speeding right at me as I held my pistol at his head.
I fired, instinct driving me, the shot connecting against his bionic arm as he ducked off to the side. It pinged and flew off down the alley, cracking into the wall. Behind him, I could see Ford taking chase. I fired again, more accurately this time. The shot ripped into his torso, but I heard only a ping of metal once more.
Like most of his kind, he was more metal than man now. I was seeing, firsthand, just how hard they were to kill.
He neared me, drawing his own pistol. My body exploded into action, rushing to the side as he raised the weapon to fire. It was the most primal, intense and frightening experience of my life, seeing the barrel pointed right at me, preparing for the roar and the sting.
But it never came.
Through the back of his neck, I saw a silver blade rush, punching through his throat and sending a gushing flow of red out onto the street. His eyes widened suddenly and then fixed, staring forward in that sort of terrified look that came with the realisation that it was all over. Done. Dead.
The knife slid back out, as he slumped to the floor in a heap of merged metal and man. Behind him, Ford stood panting, his blood-soaked blade gripped tight in his hand. He looked down at the Reaper for a moment, confirming
that he was gone.
And then, raising his eyes to me, he rushed over, took my arm.
And we fled.
11
We came to a stop about fifteen minutes later, further down the river to the east. It was towards the far, southeastern edge of the Westbends, where the world was darker and quieter, the buildings more basic, the people existing in a more profound state of squalor.
Ford led me into a series of shack-like buildings, built of basic materials scavenged from the busier parts of town. I could see, through doors of wood and corrugated iron, people sitting by firelight, lying on filthy mattresses and nests made from trash and rags.
Some were alone, others in groups. I saw families, gatherings of orphaned children. Some were squeezed into tiny spaces, half a dozen in a single shack. It was a place I'd never been to, and knew little of. The slums here were another level down even from the Bends. It was where many of the scavengers lived when not creeping around, searching for scraps.
"This way," Ford said, guiding me into the large maze of shanties and hovels, only rarely broken by a proper, sturdy building, rising more than a storey or two high. "We have somewhere safe we can stop for the night."
I followed him through the gloom, until we reached a brick building, surrounded by shacks and old husks of cars. I saw that some people lived in those too, taking shelter where they could. The sound of coughing was common. Disease here must be rife.
He stopped at a thick metal door and knocked. A few moments later, a little window in the door slid open, and a pair of eyes stared through. They flicked to me and then back to Ford.
"Cold tonight, is it?" grunted a gruff male voice.
Ford flattened his stare. "It's me, Lenny. Just open up."
The man called Lenny continued to stare. "Just say it. You know I won't let you in otherwise."
Ford let out a breath and shook his head. "Yes, it's bloody freezing. Cold enough to freeze the Controller's nuts off. That close enough?"
Lenny stared through the hole. A second later, I heard a bolt move, scraping against the metal, and the door swung open.
I glanced to Ford. "Secret password?"
"Yeah. Old Lenny's a stickler for the rules."
We pressed into the cold interior, a small hallway opening out beyond. It looked old, the floor of stone and walls the same. Definitely older than the area I lived in, perhaps even from before the war.
"We need a place to crash tonight," Ford said, looking at Lenny. He was middle-aged, his head bald, facade grim and scarred. It was the very face of distrust. A good person to stand guard, then.
"Fine. Room 3 is free tonight. Be out by first light."
He glanced at me again, with interest. It looked like he knew who I was.
Ford nodded and led me towards a set of stairs, and down into a basement level. The structure of the building was by no means uniform, another hall leading to short corridors and doors, all in strange places and angles.
I glanced at those doors, expecting to see numbers on them. "Which is room 3?" I asked.
He nodded towards an unmarked door. "You come here enough, and you know which is which. It's another of our safe-houses. Members of the VLA use it when they need a place to stay."
"And Lenny? He's a Variant too?"
Ford nodded. "Doesn't look like much, but trust me, he's a good person to stand guard here. For a start, he almost never sleeps. Only needs about half an hour a day. And those eyes? They don't miss much."
"He has enhanced eyesight?"
Ford nodded. "Could see right across the city if he had the right vantage, and all in detail too. He spends most of his time in there." He nodded towards another room. "We have cameras watching all routes here through the slums. He can monitor them all on his own in there."
I looked to the other doors linking to rooms down the darkened corridors. I supposed they were filled with members of the VLA too. To think I'd spent my life having never properly met another Variant. Now, here I was, surrounded by a mini network of them.
"Is it safe here?" I asked Ford, as we reached the door to room 3. "I mean, what if the Reapers come? We're stuck underground."
"Lenny would see them coming. We'd have ample warning, don't worry." He opened the door to the room. "Any anyway, there's a tunnel that leads off into the slums from here. We'd slip out through there and scatter." He observed my concerned expression briefly, and smiled. "Don't worry, it happens sometimes. But we have our contingencies too. I told you before, sometimes safe houses get shut down. It's just a part of life for us."
And me now too, I thought.
We entered the room, a simple place with a couple of beds and little more. I stood in the doorway for a moment, looking around, hesitating as Ford stepped in, plumped a pillow, and dropped down onto one bed, hands behind his head.
"Well?" he said, looking so casual. "What are you waiting for? It's OK, come on in."
Still, I stood there, feeling slightly overwhelmed. I felt an urge to withdraw. A lot was happening that wasn't completely in my control. It made me feel uncomfortable.
Ford seemed to realise.
He sat up on his bed and placed his feet to the floor in a more formal pose. "You're thinking about leaving?" he asked me. "You feel the urge to go home, don't you? Try to forget all of this? Pretend like it never happened." He smiled, a warm expression to help draw away some of my fears. "No, I'm no mind-reader, but I've seen this all before. It's natural to feel like that. It was the first time you've fought a Reaper, wasn't it?"
"It was you who fought him, not me." I frowned, turning to my thoughts, and took a step into the room. The door gently fell shut behind me. My eyes scanned the simple space, cold, unheated, uninviting. A place to put your head down, but that was all. It can't have been easy, living like this.
"And yet, you were all set to fight him alone." His tone wasn't reprimanding, as I might have expected. He looked at me earnestly, almost impressed. "It wasn't smart, but it was brave," he said. "Usually, when we spot a Reaper, we run."
"He'd have shot me in the back," I said. "I did the calculation. I thought I'd have my best chance there in that alley." I shook my head. "I dunno. I guess it was instinctive. I've been running enough."
"Like I said, brave," he told me, sitting up straight on his bed. "You must have been scared, facing a Reaper for the first time."
"A mix, I guess. Fear and anger. But you." My brows tightened. "You barged past me in the crowd. You were acting like a drunkard. Were you watching me?"
"You make it sound so sinister," he said, managing a handsome grin. "You were staring at the crowd as if you wanted to kill them all. Reapers are always on the lookout for Variant sympathisers when the Reapers Wars are playing, Paige. They scour the crowds, and take anyone in who they think might be soft on the Variants..."
"So, he thought that's what I was? Just a sympathiser. Not an actual Variant?"
"I can't be sure. Either way, you were far too obvious out there. I bumped into you to snap you out of it, but the damage had been done."
The realisation hit. He had done it to help me. It made sense, but more questions still lingered.
"But...how did you know I'd be there?" I asked him, stepping further in. I moved towards the opposite bed and sat down. "Did you follow me from Southbank?"
"Actually, no. But I had a strong suspicion that you'd be around the Bends. I know you like to come in on Saturday nights. I guess you got lucky I spotted you."
"Lucky? You don't think I could have taken him?"
Ford delayed in his answer, wondering perhaps if I was serious. I had to wonder myself. My belligerence could make me overvalue myself sometimes. I drew a grin to show I was being at least a little sarcastic.
"Well," he said, contemplating it a moment. "I guess we'll never know. I'm not entirely sure what you're capable of, but I'm sure of one thing - you have no formal training. The Reapers are literally built to kill. Logically, I'd say he probably had the advantage."
It wa
s a well thought out response. Not dismissive of me. Humouring me, even. But doing so in a pleasant enough way.
In reality, the guy would probably have torn me limb from limb. If Ford hadn't intervened, I'd almost certainly be dead.
The thought settled in me, making me realise how foolish I'd been. And realise, too, that I hadn't thanked him yet.
"Thank you, Ford," I said, more softly now. My wall was crumbling. To think of how close I came to dying... "I was lucky you were there."
He smiled at me in the ensuing silence. And then, with a wave of the hand, he said, "think nothing of it. I'm sure you'll repay me one day. Call it a rite of passage."
"Like...an initiation?"
"I suppose so. If that's what you want, of course. I was pretty clear the other night that we needed more skilled recruits like you. You can offer a lot, Paige. It's been my job to try to bring you in."
"Your job. You're what, a recruiter or something? For the VLA."
"I guess, in a way. But..."
His sentence was cut off, as the door knocked loudly and then, within a split second, swung right open. I turned around to find Lenny marching in, staring at Ford intensely. "A dead Reaper?" he grunted abruptly. "Really, Ford? That close to the Crossing?" He shook his head. "What were you thinking?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Lenny," Ford responded calmly. "Look, it wasn't planned, OK. I had no choice."
My hand timidly lifted. Lenny's eyes darted quickly towards me. "Yes?"
"Um..." I glanced to Ford. "Isn't...isn't a dead Reaper a good thing?"
Lenny continued to stare at me. "I was told you were a genius," he grunted. "Evidently not. Any time a Reaper is killed it draws attention. We kill one, and they're replaced. It's not a fight we can win. Ever. All it does is threaten to expose us. "
He looked at Ford again. "You know that they'll be scouring all cameras now, interrogating people in the vicinity. It won't take them long to build a picture of who they're dealing with. They may well have identified you both."