Dark Crypto (Thorne Inc. Book 1)

by Neil Mosspark

  Through the subtle illumination, she could see an overgrown street of crumbling buildings and rusting carcasses of cars. A flicker of movement caught her eye. To her right on the other side of the street stood a building that could be described as an ancient bank. Its stone pillars and stairs were overgrown with wet ivy and grasses.

  A large set of stairs coming down from the main entrance of the bank lay ahead. In the dark, she could see that the doors had long since been removed, but a wall of darkness rimmed in a faint glow crept around the edges of the entrance. Every so often the wind would pick up and blow hard, and for a second or two and with each gust a subtle red light would stream out under a flapping tarp’s edge as it attempted to cover the door.

  The sounds of excited voices behind her forced her down into the hollow. Turning to look, she could see sporadic flashlights of gang members streaming into the Quarantine Zone from the tunnel’s entrance. No sirens, no spotlights from the wall.

  Almost immediately, the muzzle from Jack’s rifle burst to life. The strobe-like flash illuminated fearful faces as hot lead peppered the ground around the furthest gang member.

  She suspected Jack had needed to work up the nerve to pull the trigger. In a wave, the exposed men swung toward him and returned fire. Bullets ricocheted off the metal body, sending sparks skyward. She could see Jack duck back behind the wall, then after a moment with resolved nerve stand back up and continue the firefight.

  Olivia sprinted in the dark, trying to memorize where the sidewalk and bushes were. She knew that the firefight would bring the mercs out of hiding, and she wanted to get out of the crossfire if any sort of battle started. Crashing into a thicket at the base of the bank wall, she leaned against the wet stone, satisfied that she was hidden.

  A red light to her left brightened, and she swung her weapon up to see the door frame illuminated for a moment. A man in night-vision goggles was looking across the street toward the gunplay. Raising her weapon, she aimed it at his head, knowing that he would easily be able to pick her out in the darkness. Slowly her finger began to pull on the trigger, trying to time a single shot with the cadence of the firefight.

  Cold steel pressed against the back of her skull. “Don’t make me kill you here. Lower the gun.” The voice was familiar but raspy, like a smoker who had spent a lifetime breathing in soot and tar. She winced, waiting for the hot lead to push through the tissues of her brain. She had gotten sloppy and hadn't secured the area first.

  “Hand it over,” the voice said.

  Not moving, Olivia lifted the rifle with fingers away from the trigger. Raising the other hand, she felt the body behind her shift and take the rifle away.

  “And the grenade belt.”

  Olivia lifted it off herself, carefully holding it out to the side. A gloved hand plucked it from her grasp.

  The man on the balcony had been bait. He turned to the voice behind her. The subtle reflective glow of green from behind the optics made him look like an alien creature. It stared at her for a moment.

  The voice spoke again in a low tone. “Clean that mess up and report back.”

  Without even an acknowledgment, the night-visioned mercenary lifted his weapon toward the ongoing gun battle. Olivia could see the silencer on the end of the barrel dripping from the falling rain. The silent man descended the steps to wrap himself in the darkness. Olivia tried to track him with her eyes, but once across the street, the black torrential rain swallowed him whole.

  They were well prepared for the night. Olivia was not, and she was going to die because of it.

  “Make any move and I’ll put two in the back of your head,” the voice stated, grabbing her hands. Familiar plastic handcuffs zipped over her wrists in expert fashion, pulling her hands behind her back.

  “Get up and move toward the door.” Large, gloved hands were wrapped around her wet wrists. She considered trying to twist away to escape but knew that her aggressor was likely as well equipped as the other merc. She would have been dead before she took three steps.

  After moving up the stairs, hands pushed her through from the wet darkness outside into the dry red light of the interior. Looking around quickly, she scanned for further threats. Two more men stood at opposite corners of the long rectangular room. True to his word, the scientist had identified the location as a bank, or at least what once had been.

  Plaster from the roof had caved in in sections. Wood paneling had been pulled off, and dark mildew coated the exterior walls.

  Neotech's labeled equipment was piled around a large metal plate the size of a garage door. The outer edge appeared like a picture frame, and the interior, although made from the same material, was smooth and almost reflective. The plate stood almost vertically with one end embedded in a marble pillar and stretched toward the teller’s counter. Only the pillar kept it upright. The scene would have almost appeared intentional save for the disfigured marble and counter. Where it touched the floor, the white and gray marble appeared to have rippled like water on a lake after a stone was dropped into it, except it was now frozen midwave. The marble of the floor and pillar appeared to have liquefied and reformed. Olivia knew that both the floor and pillar couldn’t possibly have melted. The distortion made her wonder if they were all being irradiated as they stood there. Perhaps there was a legitimate reason the Quarantine Zone was off limits to people.

  Gruff hands steered her past the thin alien metal wall.

  “Dr. Gerrard! We caught an old friend snooping around. She was hanging around outside,” the voice said. From Behind a barricade of Neotech crates, Dr. Gerrard’s head poked out. He looked anxious.

  “Oh, it's that nosy reporter. What’s she doing here? I thought your men killed her?”

  “Reporter?” The voice laughed.

  “She’s not a reporter?” Dr. Gerrard asked. Olivia could smell the nervous stench on him. Likely he was out of his depth.

  “No. This one’s no reporter. She’s a killer. A well-trained died-in-the-wool killer.” A hand patted her on her back, and she winced at the statement. She wracked her brain for who the voice sounded like but couldn’t get past the raspiness. Whoever it was knew her well. Too well.

  “Kill her then.” Gerrard adjusted his glasses and returned to his work behind the barricade.

  “I want to catch up first. For old times’ sake.” Hands shoved her forward past the crates. She stumbled with the blow but kept herself on her feet.

  “Fine then. Put her next to Dr. Sanders while I finish my calibrations. We’re almost ready. We can use her as a canary when we open the door.”

  “That sounds just fine, Doc.” Rough hands pushed her around the pile of boxes. Olivia could see Dr. Sanders kneeling on the floor facing the tellers’ counter, which stretched the length of the room. The woman was bound, and her head was covered, but it was evident that it was her.

  Olivia glanced to her right as she walked by Dr. Gerrard. She could tell that they were using the crates as a barricade from the metal plate, like a safety buffer in case of a blast, or maybe as a radiation shield. It did little to reassure her.

  “Kneel,” the voice ordered, pushing her to the floor. Pain exploded as her knees collided with the marble floor. More plastic cuffs secured her feet together.

  Gruff hands spun her to face away from the counter. The movement made the hooded Dr. Sanders flinch. Olivia could hear the faint sob as the stench of fear and anxiety wafted through the air.

  Facing her captor for the first time, his frame looked familiar. The balaclava covering his face hid away his identity.

  “Do we know each other?” Olivia asked. “Seems like you know me.”

  “Oh, we go a long way back, Olivia Thorne.” He laughed, slinging a small submachine gun to his side. Gloved hands plucked at his balaclava, pulling it up and off. “I’ve had a bit of a makeover, though, so you might have a hard time recognizing me. I’ll give you three guesses.”

  Well-healed scar tissue from an ancient burn covered most of his face. Only his
left eye and eyebrow appeared untouched. The green eyes peered back at her.

  “Grant? Grant Stross?” She had to close her mouth. Not at the horrors of the disfigurement but rather at the surprise at seeing him alive. “They identified your body. Said you were dead.”

  “Nope, still alive. Being a ghost helps, though. Kind of liberating to know that no one’s looking for you.”

  “The cops looked for you alright. They found your body and three of the others in the slums. The locals didn’t seem too impressed with you. How many did you kill? Twenty civilians?”

  “Twenty-eight if you count the kids.” He laughed, stuffing the balaclava in a side pocket on his tactical vest. “I killed twenty of those dirty refugees. They were trying to organize a militia. We would have lost access to the tunnels. The gangs help us all the time get stuff out. It’s a pretty lucrative side gig.”

  “Those kids weren’t cops.”

  “No, but we killed the families to make sure that no one would do it again. And hey ... it worked! Too bad you weren't with us that day."

  "I would have put a bullet in you if I was there," Olivia said. She summoned up the saliva in her mouth and pursed her lips, building pressure.

  Grant reached up and grabbed her face, covering her mouth. "I know. That's why you aren't on this side of the fence. You're not like the rest of us. You're like dead Ted and his buddies. I'll be putting you in a ditch just like them."

  Grant banged her head twice against the wall of the cashier counter hard enough that she saw stars. Ceramic tile cracked and fell to the floor. He let go for a moment then followed up with a right hook. Olivia groaned as he stood up. She swallowed the mix of blood and spit from a newly split lip. Blood dripped on the ground as she leaned forward and tried not to pass out.

  Breathing deep through her nose, she exhaled through her mouth; she needed to keep calm in order to think. The only way she was going to survive was if she kept her head.

  Grant stood and continued nattering away. “We’re here carving out a pretty good living. And today... Today we're hitting it big. Dr. Gerrard here sees the world the way I do. Isn’t that right, Doc?”

  “Shouldn’t you be doing something about that racket outside?” The doctor looked nervously at the door for a moment before he bent over a laptop. Olivia blinked the pain away. Clenching her jaw, she forced herself to keep thinking of a way out. Looking to the right, she could see a door to the back area of the bank. It hung from rotten hinges. She doubted there was a back door. Not one she could get to with her feet bound. There was nothing else that direction.

  Dr. Sanders was useless to her. Still bound and sobbing, the woman was at least still alive. She shuffled with her knees and heard the clink of tile slide off her foot. Freezing, she realized that opportunity was presenting itself.

  She looked up at Grant as she leaned back. Her hands felt the sharp edge of the ceramic tile that had been broken with her own thick skull. Olivia wanted to smile but thought better of it. She flipped it in her hands, feeling the best edge of the lighter-sized ceramic shard. One seemed slightly serrated, and she began working its edge against the cuffs binding her wrist. From the angle she was holding the shard, it was hard to apply pressure, but at least she would be able to cut through at some point. She just needed to stall for time.

  As Grant paced, Olivia eyed the barricade. Next to the laptop that Dr. Gerrard was working was the familiar box. The polyptych. It sat hooked up the laptop. Thick cables ran from it into two of the crates. Olivia eyed it, considering Mr. Grey’s statement about destroying it or recovering it. Would the world really end because of it?

  "Well?" Dr. Gerrard said. "What am I paying you for?"

  Grant looked at the doctor angrily. “It’s being handled. If you don’t want to go outside and help yourself, then you need to get things rolling in here. You said this would be quick. So far it's taken way too long.”

  Dr. Gerrard sneered and turned back to his work. “Get Dr. Sanders plugged in.”

  Her form began thrashing. “No! No! No!” Dr. Sanders cried out. She wriggled against her restraints. Grant pulled off the sack covering her head. Disheveled blonde hair was matted to her cheeks. Tears flowed down her face. “Please don’t make me open it. You don’t understand!”

  “Oh, I understand fully, Anita,” Dr. Gerrard stated coldly. “You just don't want to do it. We can encourage you again if you want?” The doctor picked up a hand-held Taser, turning toward her. Blue light arced and crackled in his hand, and she flinched fearfully.

  Anita shook her head, crying. Olivia looked closely at the woman. Multiple scorch marks on her white top were a testament to the use of electrical “encouragement.” Olivia could feel the anger welling back up.

  “Good girl,” Dr. Gerrard said as he motioned for one of the two guards to step forward. “Plug her in. We’re ready.”

  Olivia could hear the patter of gunfire outside dwindling. As though on cue, the heavy thump of a grenade exploding sealed the last of the noise. Jack’s metal body had likely given up the ghost. An army of angry gang members, a mercenary, and an untrained and underarmed robot jockey in a Mexican standoff didn’t seem a favorable outcome.

  Her fingers paused for a moment when one of the guards moved. She tucked the shard away up her sleeve.

  The balaclava'd guard crossed the room and grabbed Dr. Sanders by the arm. The woman's bound form flopped to the side with feet and hands bound together. He dragged her unceremoniously next to the doctor and propped her up.

  Olivia watched as the man pulled the cable from the box. A gruff hand lifted her ponytail and pressed the adapter into place. There was a click.

  Olivia resumed the cutting.

  “Are you ready, Doctor Sanders?”

  “I really don’t want to do this.”

  “Think of all the children you will save. If you open this, I won’t have to spend another five years finding suitable candidates to resolve the puzzle. It’s in your head. Think of the children.” Dr. Gerrard snickered to himself.

  “So you are the one who did that to those kids?” Olivia asked.

  The man ignored her.

  “How many kids did it take?”

  “Dozens,” Dr. Gerrard answered. “But their sacrifice was not in vain. Dr. Sanders was able to complete it, with some encouragement, once they had progressed past the algorithms she was stuck on. What is your IQ, Dr. Sanders? One forty-three?” Gerrard paused for a moment, turning to look at her angrily crackling the Taser. “Answer me!”

  Anita cringed. “One forty-five.”

  “Well, not smart enough.” Gerrard placed the Taser back on the crates. “A bunch of children did what you couldn’t do.”

  “Why not use the kids then?” Olivia stalled. Her mind scrambled to buy time in order to find a way out of the situation.

  Gerrard ignored her.

  “Why not do it yourself?” Olivia asked. She could see that Gerrard had the same head plug like Jack and Anita did.

  The man continued with his work. “Please kill her.”

  The guard looked at Grant, and Grant shook his head. The burned man pulled the balaclava from his pocket and knelt before Olivia. “Open wide.” Powerful hands squeezed on her mouth, and she gritted her teeth. The hands pried her jaw open, and the sweaty cloth forced its way inside, pressing her teeth wider and her tongue to the floor of her mouth. Another flexible cuff wrapped around her head, pushing the gag farther in.

  Grant stopped for a moment and leaned in. She could smell the man this close. His body stank of sweat. His voice whispered in her ear, “I always wondered if your tattoos were everywhere. Maybe later we can find out.” He leaned back and softly patted her on the cheek with his gloves.

  His distorted face smiled at her, and she glared hard.

  “Are you done?” Gerrard asked impatiently.

  “Fire it up.” Grant walked away from Olivia to look over the crates.

  “Your turn, Anita. Open the door for us.” Dr. Gerrard tapped on his
keyboard with a flamboyant flick of his wrist. Olivia could smell the discharge in the air and looked at Anita.

  The woman was still kneeling but sobbing. Every ounce of the fight was gone from her body. “I’m so sorry... So sorry.”

  On the other side of the fabricated wall, beyond Olivia’s sight, the room brightened for a moment in an orange flicker that made Olivia hesitate. The room looked as though a large fire had begun blazing somewhere on the other side. Neither of the two guards reacted, and the doctor seemed very pleased with the results.

  “Grab your canary and see if it’s safe,” Gerrard stated, pointing to Olivia. “Better her than your men.”

  Gerrard looked at her wagging a finger. “No funny business.” He smiled, and the burned skin of his cheeks pulled back to expose the wide, glistening white teeth. The contorted smile drew wide like the skull of a distorted Cheshire cat. Pulling out his knife, he reached behind her and blindly cut the plastic loops binding her feet.

  He stood over her for a moment. “Get up.”

  Olivia's hands gripped the tile shard she had been working against the plastic cuffs of her wrists. Wrapped in her fingers, she could feel its sharp edge against her palm. She hoped that the two fists clenched together would hide the cutting edge.

  “I said get up!” Grant yelled. He reached down, his fingers grabbing at her short hair. She wanted to dodge but knew that it would be better to let him succeed, at least in the short term. The pain in her scalp dissipated once she was on her feet. Grant’s strong hands wrapped around the back of her neck, directing her around the wall of crates.

  Olivia looked one more time at the sobbing Anita. The thick cord was still attached to her head.

  As they rounded the side of the boxes, Olivia could finally see the light show in the metal frame. A rippling orange field danced in front of her like a transparent screen of static. At first it looked like a garage-door-size flat-screen television. But beyond the surface of the screen, objects floated by. She moved her head a little to the side, and as she suspected there was a depth to it. The darkness in the distance beyond the frame seemed to indicate some limit to the space beyond the distortion field keeping everything inside.