Motherland

by Russ Linton

  "Connie, he's here," Dad calls out.

  Connie? Mom?

  I can't see enough of the room; those bright monitors create too many dark corners. Another doorway. Armor-Plated windows that used to offer a view. I want them open. Shadows expunged.

  Everyone is deathly quiet. Eric stays hidden in his chair. Ember is coiled and focused. The hiss of Polybius' manufactured body stops. The only noise comes from news announcers, talking heads who are hundreds, maybe thousands of miles from here relaying the state of a world that I am not currently part of.

  She steps out from behind the monitors. Thin and bony, her hair hangs in clumps. Her frame is too small. The t-shirt and jeans are things Mom would wear, but they settle like loose skin on a corpse.

  "Spencer. Baby," Charlotte whispers.

  I'm out the door before she can get any closer.

  Chapter 3

  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING me?"

  "Come on," Eric says. "What, you're going to walk to Virginia? Back to school?"

  He's leaning over the passenger seat of his shoe box on wheels, window down, driving alongside me as I stroll down the road paved with good intentions. And blood. Tears. Mental breakdowns.

  I'm not sure where I'm going. If my memory can be trusted again, Whispering Pines was hours north of San Francisco on some backwoods country road. Remote for a reason. Lost for a reason. I wish it had stayed that way.

  "Doesn't matter," I say, "and I can't show my face on campus again. Not after that bullshit you pulled."

  "Man, I thought you'd want to know. I mean your mom. She's back."

  I stop, and Eric jams on the brakes, hard. Even barely past an idle, his shitty little car shimmies, and I glare into the open window.

  "That is not my mom." A bit of Dad's commanding tone surfaces. Never knew I had it in me until last year.

  He's frozen, not sure how to respond. I push off the car and continue down the road. The tinny spin of the engine slipping into drive tells me Eric isn't giving up. Meekly, the carrito edges into view. He doesn't say anything, just paces alongside.

  "Leave me alone," I say.

  He continues to creep. I'm well past the invisible line of the cloaking field which parallels the two grave sites. In theory, I'll soon breach that psychic fence and forget why I'm even here. Forget all about this place. That was the one and only thing Charlotte did right.

  But I keep going. The image of her, walking into the room, almost her, almost Mom, is unshakeable. The way she held herself, wore her clothes. On the edge of the shadows, veiled by the glow of the monitors, I'd been taken in for a split second.

  One final heavy footfall and I teeter at a standstill. That's right. It was Charlotte who made the mental fence. Nobody knows exactly why, but we guessed it was so she and her new family could be hidden from government agents and prying eyes. She controls who is affected and who isn't. What if I walk past that boundary and still can't erase the memory of her twisted charade?

  Eric overshoots. He squeaks to a stop and rolls backward. "Ready for a ride?"

  Last time the forest brought freedom. Unrestricted and unbounded, I was no longer trapped in a cooler or a life I didn't control. It was the sort of freedom I'd spent countless arctic nights dreaming about. Now the ramrod straight trees might as well be prison bars. Their overlapping canopies block out too much sun. Even the scent I reveled in moments earlier has been corrupted into a cloying, sickening assault.

  The interstate is five miles away, maybe ten. I could continue to hike out, hitch a ride. Of course, Dad would catch up. No, he'd be here himself if he really wanted to try and stop me.

  I lean in and look Eric straight in the eye. He pushes his glasses up and stares back.

  "My dad made you do this, huh?"

  "Do what?"

  "Everything. Drag me here for this Frankenstein family reunion. Come chase me down to try and explain."

  Eric's eyes drop, and he rubs the back of his neck. "I guess. I mean he's the C.O. here, so he calls the shots." More G.I. Joe lingo, another sign of Crimson Mask's influence. Pretty sure Eric catches my eye roll. "But I think he's right," Eric protests. "I wouldn't have done it if I thought it was the wrong thing to do."

  I shake my head and go slack against the car door so that I'm staring at the dirt road, my forehead tapping the door. "How is this not a bad thing?"

  "Believe me, I wanted nothing to do with it at first. I'd been doing my best to keep Charlotte comfortable. Learned how to change the feeding tubes and shit from Cyrus." He studies the steering wheel. "Trust me, I'd rather she be up there. Without that cloak, we're wide open. From what we can tell, the effects are degrading daily since she came down. Fucking impossible to measure, too, since everyone who decided to stay is immune to the effects. We can keep tabs on whether wireless communications and such go in and out. People's memories fading?" He glances nervously at the woods before fixing on me again. "I get why you don't believe her. But, well, she knows things."

  "She knows things? Knows things? That's your basis?"

  "She mentioned that time I stayed over at your house, and we hacked the cable box to we could get any channel, remember, any channel," animated, he puffs his chest and waves open hands, unable to contain the words, "'cause the Giants had a doubleheader, but we were flipping past the pay per view, and there was like a real doubleheader going down on that adult channel, and your Mom walked in, and we were like—"

  "Eric!" My disgruntled growl sideswipes his trip down memory lane. "Charlotte can read your damn mind! That's what she does!"

  "But your dad..."

  "Forget him. He might be bulletproof, but he sure as hell isn't idiot proof." Eric starts to interrupt, but I don't let him. "She's played meat puppet with him before. Remember?"

  A stillness between us is broken by Eric cursing under his breath and sliding the car into park. When he speaks, he's hunched over the wheel, gazing down the road.

  "I know that. I know what she's done. That's my job here, to track Augments and make sure they aren't causing trouble." He tugs his bottom lip. "It’s been tough. I mean I feel like I'm doing some good here, but all these dudes are such badasses."

  He doesn't have to say anything else. Having grown up under the weight of Dad's world, I know that perplexed, infuriated expression. Dad's attempts to protect me had mainly involved lies until he gave up and locked my ass in the Icehole while our world fell apart. Or really, his world. Always about him.

  Fine, Dad wanted me here for whatever messed up reason. There's a good chance that Eric gave in not just because the Crimson Mask asked. He gave in because he felt lonely. Isolated. He needs someone here. Someone normal.

  I open the door and drop into the passenger's seat. Eric clears his throat.

  "Where to?" He's poised with one hand on the wheel and one on the gear shift. "Seriously. Wherever, man. I'll take you back across the damn country if you want."

  That could work. But no, one thing at a time. I'm going to have to deal with whatever guilt-driven fantasy Dad's cooked up about Charlotte.

  "Whispering Pines," I say.

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure. But just long enough to talk some sense into my Dad."

  We're back to the empty guard shack before Eric says anything. "Trouble is, well, if you're gonna be here a bit, I could use a little help."

  "What?"

  "Charlotte was plugged into everything. We had some irregularities I wrote off as part of her antennae gig. Turns out, they aren't. I need to run a full systems diagnostic, but I'm the only one here capable." He pulls into a space and parks next to the one other vehicle there—a Humvee straight off a Mad Max shoot. "Despite all the implants and crypto skills, Polybius isn't a hardware guy. Dude's a genius, but he ain't no Spencer Harrington."

  He's genuinely concerned, overwhelmed. I can tell because a hint of crazy-eyes-Eric is tweaking behind those glasses. Aside from contact with another mere mortal, he does need help. He was the software guy, I was the hardware guy, that's h
ow we rolled back in the day—a complete systems compromise package.

  "Fine," I say, and he cracks a smile. "Where'd you get all the hardware?"

  "A little place called..." his words trail into a quiet mumble.

  "What?"

  His eyes dart my way, and he blurts, "Nanomech, Inc.," before bailing out of the car.

  Nope. He couldn't have just said that. Nanomech? Drake's old company. The Black Beetle himself. A major corporation in the hands of an unbalanced protégé who I watched put a slug through his boss' forehead.

  Wisely, Eric hasn't left the keys.

  ERIC AND I WAIT IN the lobby for Dad to return from the little mission I assigned him. Demands had to be met before I'd set foot in the building. First, Charlotte had to be locked up in one of the old holding cells in the opposite wing. That was mostly out of spite. As far as I know, her brain invasion powers have no range. Second, I'd need another Augment-style Uber ride before I started any systems diagnostics. There was somebody I owed an apology to.

  According to Eric, the prison wing was currently unoccupied. Over the past year, they'd had to make regular use of the cells. They discovered that each cell was specialized and could contain a variety of powers though nobody had fully planned on Charlotte.

  "What about the residents' wing?" I ask. "How many non-psychotic Augments are still here?"

  An awkward pause precedes his answer. "Hound, Polybius, Danger, Ember, Aurora, and Crimson."

  My memory has been fully restored by soaking in the antiseptic smell and the god-awful institutional decorating. Many, many more Augments were rescued from Killcreek. Most didn't stay. They weren't forced to, but I didn't think the others would have backed out so fast. And two of those names aren't familiar either, before or after Killcreek.

  "Danger? That the black guy?"

  Eric nods.

  "Aurora?"

  "Green. Shimmery." He looks around fearfully.

  "You don't trust her?"

  "Not around any of our gear. She's not allowed inside. Or in hospitals."

  "What about Cyrus?" I ask. "I didn't figure he'd leave."

  Eric shakes his head and slumps against the wall. "He helped a lot getting Polybius pieced together from all the tech he pulled out of the rest of them. Man, you're gonna get a kick out of that code-smasher's upgrades! But Cyrus, he wanted to retire. Went off to a third world country to be a doctor who says fuck borders."

  "Some retirement." It fits Cyrus’ M.O. though. He was always looking to use his healing powers for one good cause or another.

  Eric grins before saying, "You know how it is. They can't ever leave this behind."

  "Seems plenty did." I motion at the empty space.

  "Well, they left here." He looks like he's about to say more when Dad enters from the far hall.

  Crimson Mask doesn't look happy. Then again, what's new?

  "Your mother says she loves you," he reports.

  Catching the chill, Eric springs off the wall and heads for the hallway to the comcen. "I'll just be...somewhere else."

  Dad acknowledges him with a terse nod. Before all this went down, I'm not even sure he knew Eric's name or would bother with a head twitch. I'll cling to these tiny victories.

  "You can't really believe her," I hiss as Eric disappears down the hall.

  "I can, and I do," he states. "So should you."

  There are too many things wrong here. Then again, if she'd wanted me dead, she could pop into Dad's brain and grab the wheel. I try to dispel the image of two lonely graves beneath the pine needles and stare into his eyes, searching for a sign that he's been compromised. His intense gaze and the decided lack of any tiny versions of her in his pupils, hands on the controls, forces me to back down.

  "Dad, I get it. You want her back." I steady myself to say the next thing. "But it can't ever happen. She's nothing more than a ghost. She's gone."

  I'm certain of that. I have to be. She couldn't leave Charlotte's fantasy land. If she could, I would have brought her with me or found a way to get her out. The only real memory I'm left of her final days wasn't even mine. I’d watched a mental replay through someone else's eyes as they shoveled dirt over her broken body. Dad touches my arm, and I jerk away.

  "Spencer, I haven't been the best father, I haven't been the best husband, but I know my own wife. When she says Charlotte left, I believe her."

  He's so damn sincere. It's hard not to get taken in. The infinite mindfuck spiral is always a consideration. These could be her words. Her ideas. Taken as an orphan, Charlotte always wanted a family, and this might be her latest scheme to steal one. The thought makes me queasy.

  "Maybe you knew Mom." I try my best not to say what's really on my mind. Wife? You mean the one you cheated on? The one who died broken and lonely because you couldn't find her? "But I know Charlotte better than any of you. This is all a game to her. She will lobotomize you as soon as she gets the chance."

  Dad sets his jaw and withdraws. Deep in thought, he places his hands behind his back. "You're right, Spencer. You know Charlotte better than any of us." An intense stare pierces me. "That's why I need you here."

  Words fail. Check but not mate. I should've seen this coming. In the aftermath of Killcreek he’d asked me to stay, a victory in which I suppose I was instrumental but can't help feeling deep reservations about. Especially now. No, forget this most fucked up excuse in the history of fucked up excuses to try and make up for lost time. Bonding with the kid over his presumed mother's new skin suit. Jesus. No way is this going to happen.

  Then there's Eric. I can tell he's drifting out of his depth. I left him once, not by choice, and he went off that deep end trying to find me. Leaving him here alone with a freshly rested Charlotte isn't something I can do. No, not after what she turned Dad into. She simply pointed his earth-shattering strength and pulled the trigger. Eric isn't safe.

  Dammit.

  There it is. Checkmate.

  Chapter 4

  EMILY'S RUSTED OUT Bronco squats in the driveway, an elegant addition to the marble fountain and the polished concrete. Perfect rows of trees, a plush green carpet of mid-fall grass—her Bronc' is in the wrong neighborhood. At least it isn't the strangest addition to Martin's sprawling estate. My own ride merits a whole new level of gate crashing.

  Aurora hovers patiently beside the fountain. Light spills off the Augment's form in shifting waves. I force a smile, a half-hearted wave, and climb the sweeping flight of polished granite to the porch.

  An attempt to smooth my hair only causes it to cling to my fingertips. Every follicle must be on end. With a sigh, I knock. No answer.

  Emily could be off wandering the property. The mansion, Martin's former home, makes her nervous she says. She keeps threatening to get rid of it. Deny her former boyfriend's final wishes which were only discovered after his death through an insistent attorney. No family left, she was the closest thing he had, and his personal wealth became hers.

  Nothing here is her style from the colonnades supporting more pretentious architecture I can't identify, to the manicured lawn which unseen workers tend while she runs experiments at the lab or explores the backcountry in search of more biological mysteries. When she's here, she moves almost exclusively between Martin's old room, the kitchen, and the gym. She's got one bedroom where she's started an amateur Salarium mining operation—a cryptocurrency hobby she shares with a couple of the guys at work—and she checks that room regularly. The door to Martin's former study stays closed as do at least a dozen other empty rooms. This doesn't include the guest house, or the cave Eric insists is hidden underneath all the opulence.

  Too big, she says. True, she could fit the entire GMU lab in there. Hell, some of the local ponds she monitors for her graduate work would look like drink spills in the living room. I push the intercom. An odd crackle emits over the speaker, but it finally gives a tone.

  "Hello?" she says, her voice shredded by static.

  I grimace and eye Aurora. They float further down
the drive. Limbs loose, unmoving. Fuck, that's creepy.

  "Hey," I say into the pinhole camera.

  "Spencer? That you?"

  "What, I look that weird?"

  "No, the camera's giving me feedback. Be right there."

  She's at the door pretty quick. Work out pants and a sports bra; I can't help but recall the day we met. I also can't help but see her in a completely different light than that day. A greenish, shifty kinda light. It plays across her eyes.

  "What the hell?" Trepidation fills Emily's voice as she watches Aurora pull the friendly ghost routine.

  I shrug it off. "My Uber. Or a shortcut to lymphoma, who knows?"

  "From..."

  "Yeah," I say, running a hand through my hair again, hoping none of it comes out. "Can I?"

  She steps aside, her eyes fixed on the Augment until I'm past her and she closes the door.

  "I was worried. You didn't show up at the lab. I called your phone, and it went straight to voicemail."

  "Cancer, phone bricking, she does it all."

  Emily narrows her eyes, trying to see through my normal bullshit. Satisfied by whatever she finds she says, "Don't joke about the cancer thing. Come on in." She walks past and slings a towel across the back of her neck, stealing furtive glances each step.

  My eyes linger on the office to my right and that desk corner where Martin gave me a check-up. Full-time worrier, that guy. He'd probably insist I travel in a radiation suit with my new friend. Eric and the guys at the backwoods Deliverance base said it was cool but I don't know. Doc was right to worry about some things.

  Emily's beside the couch in the living room, patting the backrest. She seems a little less freaked out than I’d imagined. Of course, we've seen some shit together. I head to that plush change-devourer and comply. Sinking into the leather has the intended relaxing effect, and I swing my legs onto the ottoman.

  "Water?" she asks.

  "You can splash a little on the whiskey if you don't mind."