Deprecated

by Michael Karr

  A sickly rumble, followed by a puff of exhaust smoke came from the old van as Feng turned the ignition. One of its taillights glowed red, and the van rattled forward. With a sound of metal screeching across metal, the van came to a halt perpendicular to the flow of traffic. Then Feng climbed out of the cab, cursing, and limped over to the front of the vehicle.

  It amazed her that Feng was able to walk so well with the brace. It was a shame Serghei’s talents couldn’t benefit more people. If he weren’t forced to work on the scavenging crew, maybe he could. Then again, if Serghei weren’t forced to work, he’d probably watch movies all day.

  Straddling her bike, she pulled out her pistol and released its magazine. Only two rounds remained in it. She pulled out one of the jacketed hollow-point rounds and loaded it into the chamber of her Glock. Then she pocketed the magazine and pulled out her other one, still loaded with fifteen rounds, and jammed it into her gun. Another sixteen rounds. Likely, she wouldn’t get that many shots off.

  She started up her Harley, and pushed back the kickstand. Then she waited, scratching at the back of her hand.

  A few seconds later, she heard the blare of a horn, followed by angry shouts. Her heart lurched. That was her cue.

  She raced out and turned onto 4th Avenue. Three black cars of the CA’s motorcade sat in the street, blocked by Feng’s van. Right hand supported by her left forearm, Rylee began firing shots at the vehicles.

  With a loud bang, she hit the front-left tire of the foremost vehicles. As a deterrent, she fired at one of the front windows. Gunning the throttle, she raced on past the first vehicle. Car doors flew open as the CA’s gray suits prepared to return fire.

  Rylee cursed. She had counted on them taking cover, rather than fighting back so quickly. She fired at the driver of the second car, who was using the door to shield his body. Glass shattered from the door, as Rylee’s shots tried to find her target. This was stupid. Grayson was likely in that car. What if a stray bullet hit him?

  The driver fired back at her. Three rapid shots. Rylee leaned hard to the right, attempting to dodge. Her headlight exploded. Another bullet struck somewhere lower down on her bike.

  Desolation!

  She torqued the throttle even harder, forgetting about returning fire. The driver of the last vehicle was shooting at her now too. There wasn’t any way for her to dodge. The bullets were flying at her broadside.

  More bullets struck her bike, sparks spraying in her vision. Suddenly, her front tire exploded. Fighting to keep her bike under control, she threw on the back brake. The bike veered to the right, ramming into the curb of the sidewalk with the flat wheel. The back of the bike flew up, launching her forward, over the handlebars.

  Even with her accelerated visual processing still active, it all happened so quickly. Flying headlong toward the sidewalk, she attempted to calculate a landing. But her angle was too shallow. Arms out in front, they met with the abrasive concrete first. They buckled under the force of her momentum, but shielded most of her head from a hard blow, as the rest of her body flipped over.

  She skidded for several feet before finally coming to a stop.

  I have to get up. She was amazed to find she was still alive. Her gun. Where was her gun? She tried to sit up, but her body protested. Had she broken something? Everything?

  Shouts reached her ears, as if uttered from miles away. A hazy face, shadowed by a bright sky, appeared above her. Then rough hands grabbed her by the front of her jacket and jerked her off the ground. A sharp cry pierced her lips, the pain in her body forcing the sound out of her.

  “She’s alive, boss,” said a deep voice, clearer this time.

  Then she was being dragged toward one of the black cars. A back door opened, and she was stuffed inside.

  Warm blood ran down her arm.

  More gunshots rent the air. Feng. What had happened to Feng? Just drive away, Feng. Get away! Where was her earpiece? Did she still have it?

  She reached for the spot, ignoring the shock of pain that ripped through her arm. Gone. It must have dislodged from her ear when she struck the pavement.

  There was a sound of a car crashing, headlights shattering. Craning her neck, she saw the lead car ram past Feng’s van. Their own car squealed forward, pushing Rylee back into her seat. She turned as they passed the van, but she saw no sign of Feng. Had he managed to escape?

  “You’re more tenacious than I gave you credit for,” said a voice next to her. “People like you are difficult to come by. I know, I always tried to hire people with your kind of grit and persistence.”

  With difficulty, Rylee turned her head to the right. Grayson’s father, Nathaniel Steele, the CA, sat in the back seat of the car next to her. Disarmingly cold eyes took her in, scrutinizing her.

  “It’s unfortunate,” he went on, “that I couldn’t have found you sooner. I might have been able to use you in a less…disagreeable manner.”

  Disagreeable? He wanted to frame her for the murder of several high-ranking Elects, and he called it disagreeable?

  Subconsciously, she tried to scratch at her tattoo, but her arm hurt too much.

  The CA drew out a gray handkerchief, and attempted to bind her bleeding arm with it. She pulled away, preferring to bleed to death than have a rat touch her. No, rats were nice compared to him.

  “I know you think I’m the enemy,” he said, tucking the handkerchief back into his suit pocket. “But I’m not. If you and William had succeeded in your little plot to kill me, you don’t want to know the destruction it would have caused. The Alliance needs me to survive. Sometimes, I must do hard, harsh things to ensure that survival. It’s better than the alternative, I assure you.”

  “What do you want with me?” she snapped. The last thing she wanted to hear was the twisted lies the CA used to soothe his conscience.

  “I want you to cede,” he said, coolly. “Give up fighting against me. It’s over. You’ve lost, Miss Day. Already, you’ve broken the terms of our agreement. But I shall show you leniency, if you do exactly as I tell you. And permit me to remind you that the life of your grandfather is at stake. I still might even manage to exonerate your friend, Mr. Hyde.”

  He paused, waiting for her to reply. She kept quiet, and turned away from his gaze. It was enough she was forced to talk with him, she didn’t want to look at him, as well.

  “We’ll meet with the Regulators soon,” he said, evidently reading her silence as a willingness to listen. “I will be handing you over to Chief O’Connor. She shall take you into custody, and eventually, interrogate you. At the very least, you’ll be found guilty of conspiring in the assassination of an Alliance official, aiding in the escape of a criminal suspect, and obstruction of justice. Right now, you and William are the Alliance’s highest-profile criminals. Threats to the stability and future of all its members.”

  Rylee’s eyes flicked to the front of the car. For the first time, she noticed the rear-view mirror was pointed directly at her, the untrusting eyes of the driver fixed on her. Vaguely, she wondered why the car needed a driver. Weren’t all the CA’s cars autonomous? Perhaps the driver was there in the event—like today—when the motorcade is attacked, and more evasive driving is required. Whatever, the reason, Rylee found the eyes on her unnerving.

  “I want you, in that interrogation,” the CA was saying, “to confess involvement in the spree of murders which Chief O’Connor has been investigating. She’ll want details. Don’t give them. I’ll make sure everything comes out, in time. I want you to tell her, though, that Lieutenant Advisor Richard Straufmann is behind all of it. You were just a pawn. Do you understand?”

  In answer, she flashed him a cold stare, then turned back to look out the window. They were nearly to Steele Tower by now. The Regulators would take her once they arrived. All would be over then. No, the CA was right. All was over already. She’d tried and failed.

  “Don’t expect your defiance to worry me,” he said. “You may choose to keep your mouth shut. So be it. You doom your
loved ones. Or you may be plotting to betray me again. Tell Chief O’Connor how I blackmailed you into killing my own son, that I’m responsible for all the murders. Go ahead and try. Believe me, I can make Chief O’Connor disappear just as easily as I can your grandfather. Besides, you have no evidence against me—aside from your word. And I have ways of altering PNU memory. No one will ever find proof of a single word I’ve said.”

  A smirk formed on his lips.

  What she wouldn’t give to punch him right in the mouth. She could barely move her arm, though. The amount of hatred she felt for him at that moment startled her. It was searing, tangible. It made her want to fight. To claw at his eyeballs. Bite and scratch.

  Then the face of her grandfather came into her mind’s eye. If she fought now, he would surely die. Her efforts would be futile. In her current state, she couldn’t do any major damage. Besides, the gray suit in the front seat would have a bullet through her brain before she could even leave a nice scar.

  Oh, Grayson! Why didn’t you come up with another way to stop your father? Bullets had always been her answer to stopping someone. But the PNUs with all their subtle dangers and weaknesses…

  Weakness. That was it!

  Without giving warning, she pressed herself into the CA—ignoring the stabs of pain in her arms and side, and kissed him.

  FORTY-FOUR

  A hand latched onto Rylee’s neck and yanked her back with such force she thought her head snapped free of her body. She let out a cry of pain. Another hand latched onto her arm, restraining her further.

  “Miles, get back here!” shouted the gray suit holding her. “The girl’s trying to attack the boss.” Then he added in her ear, “not another move, or I’ll break your neck.”

  Rylee didn’t doubt it. Though, she was more worried about being choked to death, so firm was the man’s grip on her neck. She didn’t fight to free herself. She’d never intended to. Aside from struggling to breathe, her attention was fixed on the CA. Did her kiss work?

  The CA was looking at her with a confused expression, tinged with…disgust? He seemed to be struggling to know what to make of her actions. The CA’s bodyguard had thought she was attacking his boss, but the CA knew that wasn’t true. At least, not directly.

  “You…” he began to say, then paused. His eyes grew wide, and he struggled to swallow down air. “Peanuts,” he wheezed out. Face reddening, his hands fumbled for something in his jacket pocket.

  “What the devil!” The man holding her tossed her to the side. “Miles, the boss is going into anaphylactic shock.”

  The back door of the car flew open, and a different gray suit hauled her out, dumping her onto the pavement.

  “Get his epinephrine injector,” shouted the gray suit. “I need a med here, now.”

  Rylee watched as best she could through the gray suit’s bulk. She saw the flash of something clear and cylindrical in the man’s hand, just before he jabbed it into the CA’s thigh. Would the injector still contain only water? Was Grayson’s prank still undiscovered after so many years?

  She wasn’t sure it would work. It had only been a few hours since she’d eaten peanut butter with her grandfather for breakfast. But it felt like an eternity ago.

  With the gray suits distracted, could she escape? She turned to look up the street. Several Regulators were running in her direction. On the other side, two more gray suits joined the scene. Not a chance.

  The franticness inside the car increased. “He’s not improving,” the gray suit in the back of the car cursed. “Where’s that blasted med!”

  “Get him out of the car!” someone ordered.

  “Loosen the necktie,” another shouted.

  Rylee was shoved out of the way, as several gray suits pulled the CA out of the car and laid him out on the pavement. Face red with hives, and eyes bulging from his head, the CA clawed at the men trying to help him. Mouth gaping open, the only sound that escaped was a thin wheezing. Sheer terror filled the CA’s eyes.

  “What is going on here?” a woman demanded, breaking through the small crowd. It was the Chief O’Connor.

  “He’s in anaphylactic shock,” one of the gray suits said. “We need a med here five minutes ago.”

  “One is on the way,” she said.

  “It’ll never make it in time,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

  Rylee jerked her head, and found Grayson crouched down behind her.

  “How did you expose him?” he asked, talking quietly. “I assume you didn’t have a handful of peanuts to shove down his throat.”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” If she lived through this day, she’d have nightmares enough, without remembering kissing Grayson’s father.

  “Are you alright?” he asked. “I thought you were dead for sure when you crashed. You shouldn’t have come back.”

  “If PNUs can numb pain, I could really use that right now.”

  “Actually—”

  “Forget it,” she said between clenched teeth as she shifted her position, “my power’s drained, anyway.”

  “Listen,” he whispered, his tone more urgent, “maybe we can get away from here while everyone’s distracted.”

  Placing a supporting hand beneath her bicep, he helped her to her feet. But they hadn’t taken a single step before a hand seized Rylee’s arm.

  “You two aren’t going anywhere,” a voice said from behind. Rylee turned. One of the gray suits had apparently been watching them.

  The urgency of the voices around the CA increased, bringing Rylee’s attention back to the unfolding drama on the street.

  “His pulse is weakening!”

  “Blasted med, we’re losing him.”

  Regulators and gray suits scrambled around the CA, frantically trying to save him, but having no means to do so. In the distance, the siren of a med van wailed through the chill air. In her mind, Rylee willed the med to miss a turn or hit a pothole and get a flat tire.

  “He’s stopped breathing!” one of the gray suits shouted.

  A Regulator commenced CPR, but it was a futile attempt. It was too late.

  “After all these years,” Grayson muttered softly, “he never knew I’d filled his injectors with water.”

  Rylee sensed a note of sadness in Grayson’s voice. And when she looked at him, she saw pain in his face. Guilt swept over her. As irrational as it was, this was Grayson’s father. However terrible of a father, it was still his father. It still hurt to see him die. She leaned into him, hoping her nearness might bring him some comfort. In reply, he wrapped an arm and shaky hand around her back and side.

  Before them, people continued to scramble around the CA’s lifeless body. A single calm figure stood in that scene, arms folded, lips tight. Rylee caught the Regulation Chief’s eyes for a moment. The woman looked at her with an expression that Rylee didn’t quite know how to read. Was that…admiration?

  “He’s actually dead,” Grayson whispered, as though he couldn’t believe it to be true.

  Yes, dead. The most powerful man in the Alliance. And she’d killed him.

  The CA would never harm anyone again.

  Epilogue

  The sound of the metal lock clicking open made Rylee’s head jerk up. It was a sound she’d heard too infrequently in the last five days since being deposited in a jail cell underneath Regulation headquarters. The sound reverberated through the metal and concrete chamber like a gunshot. Instinctively, she reached for the spot where she kept her pistol holstered before stopping herself. No gun. The click of the lock was followed by a screech of metal, as the outer door to the jail unit swung open.

  Chief O’Connor strode through the open door, her heeled boots thudding on the floor. She wore a knee-length black skirt that hugged her thighs, a silver blouse, and her customary stern expression. The woman’s appearance tended to baffle Rylee, who associated skirts with women like Adrianna. And in her mind, Adrianna was little more than a seductress of men.

  This was the third visit from the Ch
ief of Regulation since Rylee had been arrested for suspected homicide. The homicide of the CA, to be precise. A murder for which everyone—including Chief O’Connor—knew Rylee was guilty. Yet Rylee had not yet been executed or Deprecated. It was unimaginable for a criminal to sit in a jail cell for more than twenty-four hours before meeting with one of those two fates. The fact that Rylee had been jailed for several days spoke volumes about the state of the world outside her prison walls.

  As Chief O’Connor had explained it before, the current political state of the Alliance was tenuous. With the CA dead, a power struggle for control of the Alliance had ensued, with several members of the Advisory Board attempting to maneuver themselves into power. One or two influential Elects outside the Advisory Board also sought to take control. Among the vying parties, there were those who denounced Rylee’s actions and cried for her execution, and those who denounced Nathaniel Steele and hailed Rylee a hero.

  Rylee didn’t know what camp Chief O’Connor sympathized with—if any. But she got the distinct impression that the woman was trying to help as much as she dared.

  “My officers are investigating the claims you have made against the CA,” Chief O’Connor said without emotion. “With the current political turmoil, it is difficult to make much headway. Your story does corroborate with that of William Steele’s. However, it will be little help to you, as he’s a suspected conspirator.”

  “Can you tell me anything about my grandfather or Preston?” Rylee asked. The same question she’d asked the last time. She knew Grayson was being held in a separate cell somewhere. And that Feng had suffered a gunshot wound in his shoulder, but was expected to make a full recovery. He was being held in a hospital ward.

  Chief O’Connor pursed her lips, as if she was considering whether or not to say anything. At last, she leaned in closer and spoke in a soft voice. “Both are fine. Your grandfather has been assured of your current safety.”