Shadow Dragon

by wade coleman

  Smiling, I walk away and go through his wallet, which I’d picked from his pocket, and then throw it in the next trashcan I see. I don’t need the money, but I like to keep in practice and put people in their place.

  “I bet that was fun,” Kim smiles, eyes sparkling.

  We maneuver around a mosh pit where blue mutants with horns are butting heads. Kim and I find a quiet corner to people watch.

  I put on my goggles, looking through the haze of light. Alexander’s has a flat roof, with men on each corner holding rifles and radios. I zoom in; the front entrance has a sign, Closed for a private party, aid station in the back.

  I switch my goggles to infrared and watch heat sources walking behind the glass door of Alexander’s. They seem to be carrying someone.

  Around midnight, the power goes out for the entire block. The only illumination is the moon overhead. I switch my goggles to low light. Smoke pours out of trashcans. To my right, a truck pulls up to the fence. A mutant tosses a grappling hook onto the fence, so when they drive away, the barricade pulls free. People scream and head to the new exit, their feet lit by the soft green glow of their cell phones. Mr. Fukui was good to his word and has supplied a distraction.

  Staying in the shadows, I make my way to the west side of Alexander’s. The moon is up, and I feel a cool breeze emanating from her, in contrast to the hot June night. Things are always wild during a full moon, and today is the summer solstice.

  Arriving at the west corner of the building, I find what I’m looking for: a rain gutter downspout. The metal square runs the vertical length of the structure where the moon casts its shadow.

  I put my hand inside the darkness; it takes me. The cold dark is vibrant, pulsating and alive. In the distance is a point of light, and I move towards it.

  Standing on a volcanic rock, all I can see is an orange sky with dark rolling hills that fade in the orange mist. A pressing cold radiates into me. Brown smoke rises from a fissure, and the ground begins to shake. Falling, I land, face down on the roof of Alexander’s.

  The men on the roof are leaning over the railing with flashlights taped to their rifles, scanning the parking lot. There are mutants are being trampled by the crowd, some of the luckier ones are getting to their feet. I creep to the roof exit, a door, and stairs heading down. Once at the bottom, I’m in a club room with two pool tables, chessboards, and a bar. The door to the right leads to several offices.

  I check the doors, and only the utility room is locked. Getting on my knees, I take a penlight from my vest and turn it on. The light casts a shadow under the entrance. Putting my hand under the door, I reach for the darkness. It responds to my touch, grabs my hand, and I’m pulled under the door like a shade. I shift back, still kneeling. The flashlight is on the other side of the entrance.

  Turning on the light switch illuminates a small room: utility sink with a drain underneath, a single bulb and an outlet above. The shelves are filled with cleaning supplies. Thinking like a thief, I find a loose tile and pry it up with my pocketknife. Inside the hollow space is an Altoids box, and I open it up. There’s a flash-drive inside, and I put the box in my vest pocket.

  “Rachel, I have it. What’s going on out there?”

  “It’s a cluster fuck of cop cars and ambulances.”

  I smile at the thought of the two vehicles fornicating. Walking to the door, I smell a familiar scent, both sweet and sterile coming from the drain. I was a hospital orderly once, and that smell is the fluid used to preserve organs.

  “Kim, where is the door to the basement?”

  “In the kitchen, why?”

  “I’m going to check it out. Watch the back door.”

  I send a text to Detective Coleman. Got what you want, meet me at Alexander’s, bring friends.

  I exit the utility room, pick up my flashlight and walk down the hall. Carefully, I peek around the corner. The clubhouse is empty, voices coming from the roof. Finding the stairs going down, I make my way to the first-floor landing. Four men stand around the bar, weapons on the table, speaking with Russian accents on cell phones.

  There’s a fireplace in the center of the room. Shadows from the tables form a path to the kitchen. After slipping through the darkness, I reform by the double doors, push one side door open, and the sweet, sterile scent is stronger.

  Two men are at the back entrance with automatic pistols. Next to them is a freezer and the hum of the compressor masks my approach. Opening the door to the basement, I slip through unseen, following the steps down.

  The basement door has a small window in it. I see a half dozen unconscious mutants laid out on a concrete floor, a man moving between them checking their pulse. Two ghouls eviscerate the body of a young man strung up by his legs. They put his organs into a plastic tub and pour in the preservative. Another man loads the leftovers in the incinerator.

  I’m sickened by scene. My mind can barely comprehend it. The men are processing mutants like animal carcasses. Then something snaps in my head, and I just can’t let this go on. Adjusting my goggles to infrared, I walk in and turn off the light switch.

  Someone shouts and another reaches for a cell phone. I walk up to the man dialing and punch him in the throat harder than I intended. The hyoid bone in his throat snaps, and he stumbles away from me.

  His assistant turns toward me, and I kick him in the balls. A man opens the incinerator door; the fire lights the basement with a red glow.

  He grabs out a poker for the fire while the man going through the pockets of the unconscious bodies retrieves a pistol. I have just enough times to raise my hands and cover my face before he fires. The 9 mm hollow point rounds flatten on my spider silk vest. I step back under the impact; it feels like someone’s poking me really hard in the chest and stomach.

  After he empties the clip, I reach over and pick up a plastic gallon jug of organ preservative and throw it into the open fire.

  Organ preservative is a special alcohol made to hold a lot of oxygen to keep organs alive. The stuff burns hot and fast. It’s like throwing a giant Molotov cocktail.

  I duck down behind the table while the two men flank me. A few seconds later, there’s a flash followed by an intense heat that lasts a few seconds. The small windows that are at the top of the concrete wall shatter. I have enough time to curl into a ball while glass rains down around me.

  I stand up and look around. The heat of the incinerator has sprayed the burning liquid everywhere, coating the mutants’ backs in flame. Screams fill the air as fire licks their skin embedded with tiny shards of glass.

  “Michael, what the fuck are you doing? You have men coming your way.” Kim says into my ear mic.

  I look around. The lights are blown out, and only the fire from the incinerator provides illumination. Stepping into the shadows, they welcome me in.

  Two men enter the room. I wait for the second man to pass and hit him from behind in the kidney. He collapses to the floor.

  I turn to face the next man, but he’s already on me. Long fingers wrap around my neck and holding me at arm’s length. The spider silk armor protecting my neck yields to the steady pressure. His thick arm is impervious to my blows, and he squeezes. He lifts and my legs kick the air. My vision narrows and then everything goes black.

  * * *

  Waking up, I notice my face wet with blood.

  “Don’t worry; it’s not yours,” Kim says and helps me to my feet. “The cops are all over the building.”

  I look around. The man with the long fingers is dead, the back of his head spilling blood in an ever-widening pool. “Give me your pistol.”

  Kim hands me her Beretta, and I unload it and then throw it into the incinerator. A flash-bang grenade comes through the window and rolls on the floor. Kim and I close our eyes and cover our ears. The goggles go dark, and my ears ring from the blast. Kim, with her heightened senses, is curled up on the ground, incapacitated.

  The basement is suddenly awash with figures dressed in black, dragging us up the stairs. Ou
tside, they lay us face down on the asphalt parking lot.

  Someone cuffs me. “I have something for Detective Coleman,” I say, but no one seems to care.

  We lay there, Kim to my left, a dozen other men on the ground like us. Soon, a van shows up, the doors open and prisoners pushed into the back of it. Before it drives away, a large pair of shoes fills my vision, and I try to look up.

  “You have something for me?” Detective Coleman is looking down with a smirk, pleased to see me in this position. Or maybe he just likes standing over me to flaunt his authority.

  He helps me stand and cuts the plastic restraints. I hand him a flash-drive from my vest and then point to Kim. “She’s with me.”

  He walks to his cruiser, opens the door and motions us to get in the back. He hands us our cell phones and my goggles.

  “All police cars have microphones,” I say, “They record everything. Don’t say anything until we’re out of the car.”

  Kim nods.

  Ten minutes later the detective gets in, and we drive in silence, Detective Coleman looking in the rearview mirror at me, studying my altered face. Soon, we park next to a brick building near the railroad tracks, and we all get out.

  The Detective looks me over. “Nice makeup job. Is that putty on your chin?”

  I hand him the flash drive. “Yes, I did make-up for school plays.”

  He plugs the flash drive with the Vory bookkeeping records into his tablet computer. “It’s encrypted.”

  “I’m sure you have access to computers that can break it. You also had good reason to go downstairs without a warrant.”

  He puts the zip-drive in his pocket. “I suppose that we have enough for an arrest.”

  “So…we square on the Super Store?”

  “Yeah, we’re square.”

  The detective looks at Kim. “A woman matching your description was seen shooting two men at a railroad crossing. Her companion was an Asian man that matches your build, Hermes.” He looks at me waiting for an answer.

  I say nothing.

  He looks back at Kim. “It seems you have a price on your head for stealing a computer tablet.”

  Kim spits. “You don’t know nothing about what’s going on in this city.”

  “Is there something on the tablet I should know about?”

  “Kim, he’s baiting you. If you say anything, you’re admitting to theft.”

  “Ma’am, don’t listen to him, if you have something important to say, say it.”

  “Jason Baron engineered a virus to kill mutants,” Kim blurts out.

  He looks over his shoulder at his car, and he walks farther away. Kim and I follow close behind.

  “You two are in way over your heads.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Just rumors and bad jokes mainly.”

  “They did a test run on the virus six months ago,” Kim says. “It killed eight hundred people.”

  “I heard a buzz about that, but then nothing. Do you have any evidence?”

  Kim kicks a rock on the road. “A doctor’s tablet computer.”

  “I’ll need a copy of the files from the computer…then hide the tablet where no one can find it.”

  “Are you going to open an investigation?”

  “Get me a copy of the files, and then I’ll decide.”

  “Detective, I need a favor from you.”

  He nods.

  “I need to get into flight school.”

  He frowns. “I thought you were fucking with me?”

  “I was, but not anymore. Implants love to fly.”

  “I’ll look into it,” the detective says. “But I need something from you. Like the truth…tell me what’s going on.”

  I kick a rock, sending it into a bush. “I hacked into the financial accounts of the Chief Administrator of Mercy Hospital. He received millions in consulting fees from Baron Enterprises. He ran the test on the virus.” I pick up another rock and throw it at a stop sign. It comes up short. “I also met with Mr. Fukui. He works for Mayor Clay, and it seems like everyone has made up their minds that spreading the virus is a good idea.”

  The detective picks up a rock and throws it at the sign, hitting it squarely. “What’s a cyber-thief like you playing around with small change at a Super Store?”

  I shrug, and he begins to pace.

  “Gangs make money through gun running, protection, and organ harvesting. They have a cozy relationship with the Purebloods that run this city.” He pulls a cigar from his coat pocket and lights it. “Going to see Mr. Fukui was a bad idea. How did you get out alive?”

  “I said I needed his help getting revenge against the Vory. He was quite amenable, for a price.”

  “I thought Kim had a price on her head?”

  “I gave Mr. Fukui a clone of the tablet’s hard drive in exchange for a distraction. I also settled Kim’s debt with the Inner-City Gang, which should give her some breathing room.”

  “You do get around for a skinny little runt.”

  “A fat mongoose is a slow mongoose,” I quote Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “And it wouldn’t hurt if you cut down on the carbs.”

  He takes a puff from his cigar. “Did you find out anything about the virus?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Fukui leader of the Inner City Gang works for the Mayor, and they both know about the plague. Mr. Fukui is a mutant, but his not worried about the plague. Maybe he knows something we don’t?”

  Detective Coleman takes a big draw from his cigar and lets it out slowly. “Who your source?” He is incredulous.

  I hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much.

  Kim punches me in the arm. “Come on, tell him. He needs to know.”

  I trust Kim’s telepathic abilities: “My implant, Natasha, used to belong to Mark Lukas, the CEO of Blue Algae Inc. Mr. Fukui, the mayor, and Mark were playing cards. Mark cheated and got his head cut off. Before he died, he overheard a conversation where he said everything was on schedule. I assumed they meant the virus.”

  He takes his cigar out of this mouth and looks at me. “Okay, kid, I believe ya, but the shit you pull…how is it that you’re still alive?”

  I shrug.

  He relights his cigar. “After meeting with Mr. Fukui, you two did a cannonball run through the city and ended up at the Aviation Center?” He flicks the ash on the ground. “What in the hell happened at the airport?”

  I smile. “That was a little prank. The bounty hunters looking for Kim were killed by the Baron’s men. They were looking for the Mark Lukas. The Baron doesn’t know he’s dead.”

  “That’s quite a prank, especially for a person who has never been arrested. However, your name does show up on a few police reports. One report put you as the prime suspect in the theft of liquid nitrogen.” I look at my face, studying my expression.

  I study him studying me.

  “I know a way to get you into flight school, Hermes.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The Search and Rescue board have a fundraiser every year. A lot of rich folk attend. Sometimes they sponsor a mutant to flight school.”

  He puts out his cigar. “I’m assuming you walked away with Dr. Jefferson’s savings account.”

  I nod.

  “Donate a large sum of money and name yourself to the flight program.”

  “How much?”

  “A Million credits should do it.”

  “Why does everything cost millions? Last week everything was a few silver.”

  “Welcome to the big time.” Kim smiles.

  We get back in the car and remain silent for the drive. The detective pulls up at our parking garage, gets out and talks to the attendant. He walks back, opens the car door and lets us out. “They deleted the photos and records of you two being here.”

  Kim and I go back for our bikes. The detective’s car is still out front. Pulling up alongside him, he rolls down his window.

  “To make an arrest, I’ll need a sample of the virus.” He rolls up his window and drives off. Ki
m and I look at each other.

  “Today was a good day. The Vory were arrested for body snatching, and I’m off the hook for the Super Store robbery.”

  “Now all we have to do is get a sample of the virus,” Kim says.

  I put the bike in gear and head north on 80. Kim follows, closely behind.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I’m bound to chair. Above is a harsh light swinging on a long chain. Looking down, a concrete floor spattered with blood. I spit a gob of blood and phlegm into the drain at my feet. A man grabs my hair and lifts my head. It’s Dr. Nick, dressed as a Nazi.

  “Tough guy, huh? We have ways of making you talk.”

  My jaw aches, “I give up, I’ll talk.”

  Dr. Nick ignores me, gets a jar from a small metal table and unscrews the lid. He puts the jar between my thighs while I’m still strapped to the chair.

  “Honest, doc, just ask your questions,” I beg. “I’ll tell you anything, I swear to God!”

  Spiders crawl up my chest, into my ears, nose, and force their way through my lips. I scream but gag on the mass of spiders. Soon, I see them moving under my skin, taking up home in my arms and hands. I feel them swarm underneath my face and behind my eyes.

  Dr. Nick looks at me, shakes his finger and says, “Natasha is a good girl, you treat her right.”

  * * *

  I wake up in the early afternoon with my face and chest tingling. It feels like a patch of electricity is flowing in waves across my skin. “Natasha, what’s going on?”

  “I’m growing.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “It should be, but the new upgrade is growing, spreading into the spinal cord. It’s okay, Hermes. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Sitting up in my bed, I contemplate just how bad that sounds. I turn on the shower, step inside and think about last night. Did anything weird happen? The water wakes me up and I remember shifting through shadows and look at an orange sky.

  During full moons, the shadows are especially vibrant, but never like last night during the summer solstice. Wednesday was the longest day and shortest night of the year. I’ve never shadow walked on a full moon on the summer solstice. In fact, I’ve done more shadow walking in last few weeks than I’ve done in a year.