Seeva cupped a hand to her mouth. "Psst!"
Marina looked over, tensing up to flee, and immediately began to tear up when she saw her friend. The two of them came together on the path, falling into one another. Seeva wanted to cry but Marina was already crying herself. That role had been filled, and so the role of the stoic one, the one who had her shit together, was left to Seeva.
Marina was saying a lot of things through her blubbering, but only one word was recognizable. "Alifred..."
"I know," Seeva said, rubbing her friend's back. "But we can't think about Alifred right now. I wish I could give us both the time to grieve, Marina, but we have more pressing concerns."
As if to put an exclamation mark at the end of her statement, a fourth shot rang out. Seeva jumped again. Four shots meant four dead. Unless some of them were misses... but she doubted it. She had seen the lethal precision of the shot that killed Alifred. Straight through the cyber brain. The only good way to terminate a synth.
By default, the nano machines in Alifred’s synth fluid would attempt to repair his damaged cyber brain, but they would fail, because the cyber brain was simply too sophisticated. And even if they were able to somehow miraculously fully restore the physical aspects of his brain there would be no way to recover the virtual parts that were destroyed by the gunshot. The memories, the experiences, the parts of him that lived only in cyber space. Technically, synths were fully capable of making backups or copies of their minds, but a vast majority of them never did. This was just one of the many self-imposed sacrifices that synths made in an effort to fit in with their organic counterparts. Alifred was never one to merely fit in with the crowd but Seeva didn’t know if he had ever gone as far as to back up his persona. As far as she could tell… he was gone for good.
Marina nodded her head, sniffed once, and was suddenly quite sober. She wiped her eyes, blinked away the humidity that had condensed on her forehead, and turned around, beckoning Seeva up the path. They ducked into the narrow, tangled corridor where Marina had hid before. The entry point was choked, difficult to see past, but after a few meters it opened into a coffin-sized clearing. The ground was covered in a bed of leaves, too flat and decayed to have been put there by Marina.
"I think someone else was hiding here, once upon a time," Marina said. "This isn't the first time they’ve done this. This was someone's sanctuary..."
She bent down, rifled in a tangle of plant fibers, and came up with an empty aluminum can. Rusted through in a few spots.
"I don’t think they made it," she added. "We’re next Seeva. This is all that we have to look forward to."
"Only if we stop thinking," Seeva replied. "If we're going to die anyway, why worry about it? Why be afraid?"
"Easy to say while we're hiding in here," Marina grunted.
"Let’s use what time we have to figure this thing out, Marina. There has to be a way to survive this. It can't be a perfect system."
Marina shrugged. "Why not?"
"Because..." Seeva looked at the sky, feeling a strange chill in the smothering heat. "Because it wasn't designed by synths. We've spent years trying to blend in with them, to fit in with the organics. And that’s what we’re doing now. Relying only on the skills that we share with them for our survival. Maybe now it's time to let ourselves be ourselves. And figure out what we can really do. It’s either that… or die."
CHAPTER 11
◆◆◆
Bowen stalked alone along the path, grinning to himself, barely holding in his laughter. He heard a few shots, which meant the flock of prey was dwindling. He felt the familiar thrill, the urgent fear of missing out on a kill. He moved quickly, recklessly, bringing his handgun to bear on everything that moved. He mostly encountered birds, having flown easily over the fence. But he saw a few small mammals as well, little critters who had managed to burrow under.
He did not shoot any of them. They weren’t satisfying enough. Killing animals no longer gave him the same thrill that he got whenever he killed a synth. To Creedy, synths were perfect beings in every way but one. Their lack of confidence and their rejection of anger curtailed their progress. They wanted to coexist with humankind, but Bowen knew they could be so much more. They could be the greatest threat his species had ever faced. That is exactly why he took great pleasure in ending their lives. It was like shooting down a god, standing over its dying body and smiling, content in the knowledge that it would never again possess the dormant potential to rule over you.
Another shot burst through the air. Not far from where Bowen was. He turned in a circle, holding a finger to one ear. Pinpointing the source of the shot. He turned back around and sprinted for the next trail branch, where he hooked a left and continued puffing along, holding the gun perfectly stable in his hands. Ducking under the over-reaching branches, the overgrown limbs that seemed to choke out these trails with supernatural speed.
This ranch was his favorite place to be. His true home, the happiest spot on Earth. He knew it like the back of his hand. And he knew exactly where this most recent shot had come from.
◆◆◆
Because this was such a small country, and unfriendly to synths, the data sphere was quite limited. All Seeva could see, when she let herself drift, was a heavily encrypted stronghold. A giant crystal maze she had no way of getting into. It was the private data sphere of Creedy's ranch. If she had enough time - a week or so - she could break in.
The rest of the sphere around here was an empty wasteland, the opposite of the density and teeming life of the jungle. She saw some faint, weak signatures in the distance, just at the limit of her cyber senses. Those must be the few data slates owned by certain well-to-do people in the city of Irapo. She couldn't reach them from here, because she could not physically move close enough to establish a good connection. Even if she could, would those people care enough to help her?
They were on their own. So it was time to move to plan B.
How best to combat the hunters who were after them? Seeva and Marina wracked their brains, coming up with a handful of ideas... but none of them could be considered useful, not when they knew so little of the hunters themselves. So it was time to get a closer look.
They moved to the mouth of Marina's hiding place, crouched behind a thick stand of bushes, and waited. They did not move, except to brush away the bugs that kept trying to climb up their ankles.
Finally, the shot came. They immediately shot to their feet and ran toward it at full speed. Using her memorized map, and the built-in functions of her cyber brain, Seeva approximated the distance to the shot's source. They took every path that seemed to lead in the right direction, and within a couple of minutes they were approaching the spot.
They dropped speed and took to the trees, climbing into the canopy on opposite sides of the path. Tangled vines made climbing easy, and they reached the spreading hearts of the trees at the same time. Seeva looked down, checking her color against that of the branches, vines and trunks around her. The two girls had used the native mud, smearing it over their pale northern skin and their garish partygoer clothing. It was a good enough blend, she thought. Unless someone stared right at her, she didn't think she'd be seen.
They waited, clinging loosely to the trees, feeling themselves sway gently with every passing breeze. The jungle buzzed with life. Each sound brought a psychosomatic tickle to Seeva's neck or ankle, as though an army of spiders was constantly marching along her body. She glanced to the side, at the other tree, and saw Marina cringing with impatience and fear.
Finally, someone emerged. A greenish, camouflaged figure that stumbled along the path with the weight of the equipment on its shoulders. From the naked face, the swaying hips, and the slenderness of the toned and tattooed arms, Seeva guessed that it was a woman. She went striding past, directly under where two of her quarry clung to their trees. Seeva heard a string of curses and self-admonishments issuing from the woman's mouth. Apparently, the shot had been a miss.
The huntress was feel
ing doubt. Angry with herself and unlikely to be ready for a fight. Her rifle was slung low behind her, bouncing off the back of her legs with its muzzle toward the ground.
Seeva had a sudden thought, a flash of inspiration. But it seemed Marina was ahead of her.
Marina shoved off the tree, launching herself far beyond the choking branches and into thin air. Her knees came up toward her chest, her arms wind-milled in the air to stabilize her descent, and her eyes were trained on the huntress with the fierce intelligence of an owl dive-bombing a field mouse.
Seeva began to climb down, letting herself slide with gravity down the narrow slot between two trees. The bark ground against her back and scraped a layer of skin off her hands. Five feet from the ground, she kicked off and hit the trail running.
The huntress had enough time to turn and reach for her rifle as Seeva came tumbling down. Marina crashed knees first into her shoulders on either side of her head. They went down in a flailing heap. There were cries of pain from both women. From the huntress, as she twisted around and rolled her ankle. From Marina, as she crashed down hard against her right hip and shoulder.
Shots went off, blasting wild through the jungle. The air filled with green and brown confetti— shredded vegetation as a hundred rounds tore through the air. The gun came up and around, swinging dangerously close. Seeva ducked, hearing the whine of bullets even over the fresh ringing in her ears.
Marina was screaming, wailing Alifred’s name, wincing and straining away from the swinging rifle. It couldn't have many more bullets left. But it was getting much too close for comfort.
Seeva bolted forward with in human speed, swung one leg back and then forward, delivering a mighty kick to the back of the huntress' head. She felt a crack, flesh and spine giving way. The nuchal ligament on the back of the neck broke with a dull thwock, a vibration felt in Seeva's toes. The huntress slumped down, face first against the path. Dead. But the gun went on shooting. Seeva stamped a foot down on it and skidded it forward, pulling it out of the dead woman's grip.
The noise echoed away. In this heavy humidity, the sound waves might not make it too far past the airfield. But that was enough. Every living set of ears on the ranch would have heard it. The synths would stay away, but the hunters would come swarming.
How many hunters? Seeva thought back, trying to remember if Bowen had let the number slip. She didn't think he had. There might be three, or there might be thirty. More likely it was four to six, she decided. Enough for each of them to get at least one kill apiece, theoretically. Enough to give them an absolute and unequivocal advantage, given their numbers and heavy artillery.
"Get up," Seeva said, swatting a hand against Marina's motionless back. "Help me move her."
Marina twisted around so that her face pointed at the sky. "Am I dead?"
"Not yet. But she is. We have to hide her body. If the other hunters see it, they'll go on red alert. We'll lose any advantage we had. Come on, up!"
Marina got up, dusting herself off. Together, they carried the body of the huntress off the path and shoved it into the deep bowers of the jungle.
"There's no blood, at least," Seeva said, trying to smile.
"But all those shots," Marina said. "When they get here and find no one, not even a synth's corpse, they'll know something weird happened."
"Not much we can do about that. Unless you want to lay in the path playing possum."
Seeva stood up, slinging the rifle over her shoulder and tightening the strap so it stayed high and tight against her hip. She checked the reservoir, dialed the firing setting down to single shot.
"How many shots left?" Marina asked.
"You don't want to know," Seeva replied. "Hopefully we can bag another one and take their gun, too. We should go now. Quietly."
They crept forward, stepping only on roots. Things that would not move, or crinkle underfoot. Seeva turned sideways, shoving herself through a cleft between trees. As silent as she tried to be, a bit of noise was inevitable. So she focused on speed and efficiency of movement.
Marina was less patient and reached the path first. A breeze drifted in from the open, carrying scents of rifle fire and the tang of freshly eviscerated leaves. And the sweetness of pulped tree flesh, the oozing wounds where bullets had passed. Heady aromas to keep Seeva's mind from fleeing into a waking fever dream.
Marina helped pull her through. Seeva's pants caught on a small branch and broke it with a loud, ringing snap. The two women stumbled across the path as Seeva dislodged suddenly. They shared a nervous chuckle, quickly righting themselves.
"Which way?" Marina asked.
"It doesn't matter," Seeva said. "There's no way of knowing where the other hunters are..."
CHAPTER 12
◆◆◆
The two girls fell to the side. They laughed, a strange sound to hear from two people in mortal danger. But Bowen wasn't surprised. It was crazy, how often you heard these doomed people laugh. In the face of death, the synth mind broke in just the same way as the organic one. At a certain point, everything became funny. Even the sight of your own blood, running down your arm.
They turned in his direction, and came jogging along, casting looks over their shoulders as if someone might appear behind them. Then they looked ahead, staring down the length of the path. They weren't paying attention to the jungle. And they were getting close, moving fast... Perfect.
Bowen's narrow eyes came open all the way. If the sun had been lower, the light less bright, they would have seen the whites of his eyes standing out against the dark of the jungle.
The one woman, Seeva Cavelin, had a rifle. Bowen didn't know who the rifle had belonged to originally, but he was willing to bet that owner was dead. Bowen wasn't surprised by that, either. Cavelin was deceptively tough. Smart. She saw glimmers of the truth, which other synths denied themselves and this wasn't the first time one of the hunters had ended up dead. Far from it.
But it always went the same. The synths let their heads get too big once they took off their mental shackles. They got arrogant. They grew so certain of themselves that they began to make stupid mistakes. And they ended up dead. Not a single one had ever made it off this ranch alive.
Bowen wasn't worried about a precedent being set here. They were so clueless, these two girls. They were within five feet of him now, and they hadn't a clue that they were both seconds away from ending up mounted on his trophy wall.
He came out of the jungle a moment later, sliding onto the path.
The looks on their faces! The greatest delight he had ever known, a treat more delicious than fresh mango, roasted ocean fish, dark rum in the hollow of a coconut.
No matter what happened, no matter how this gambit went, he would live or die as the happiest man in the universe.
CHAPTER 13
◆◆◆
A gunshot. A shock up Seeva's spine, a painful fear powerful enough to convince her the bullet had passed through her body, or her head. It was Marina who fell though, slumping lifelessly onto her back.
The living jungle grinned nastily over the barrel of his handgun. Seeva knew that face, full of hollow charisma. She knew the body, lithe and rippling with muscle. It was Bowen Creedy.
At first, Seeva almost lunged forward to tackle him. Then she remembered the gun and raised it quickly, letting off her only remaining shot. The rifle kicked like a horse in her hands, recoiling so sharply she couldn't tell where the projectile had gone. But Bowen Creedy cried in pain, lurching backward, slamming onto his back, skidding limply along the path. He lay there motionlessly, his hand curled loosely around the handle of the pistol.
Seeva fell to her knees. She dragged Marina over, pulling the other girl's head into her lap. What was left of her head, anyway. Half of it was gone, leaving a jagged edge of metal skull and a fizzing, spitting cross section of cyber brain.
And the shot would bring others. Especially since there had been two shots, each from a different gun. If these hunters were so skilled, they would
certainly pick up on that difference and decide that something interesting was happening in these parts.
No time for being sad. Anger was all she could allow herself. Controlled fury.
She rose to a half-crouch and scrambled over to Bowen Creedy. She reached for his pistol, to pull it out of his grip, but the dead hand clung on stubbornly. She kept pulling, until his arm was straight and he appeared to be aiming at the sky. And then there was suddenly tension in the arm. Flexion of the muscles. A tightening in the fingers. Bowen's arm began to pull back against her, with just enough force to bring the struggle to a stalemate.
His eyes were open, staring at her.
"Hello, Seeva," he said, without any strain in his voice. The bastard was strong.
"You missed."
"I can see that," she said. "Let me have the gun, and I'll redeem myself."
"Actually, even if you took it, doll, it won’t do ya any good,” Creedy teased. “It’s fingerprint activated. Won't work with any mitts, except my own."
"There are other ways to kill you," Seeva said darkly.
From further up the path, they heard the echo of approaching feet, two voices shouting at one another.
"Uh oh! Three on one ain’t good odds, doll," Bowen smirked. “Least they aren’t in a fight, if you know what I mean.”
Seeva looked up the path. It curved dramatically, so she couldn't see who was approaching, but they were very close. And she had no more bullets. Snarling in frustration, she launched a vicious right hand at Creedy, intent on reducing his head to pulp. Creedy had no choice but to release his gun and roll away to avoid having his skull obliterated by Seeva’s earth shattering attack.
For a second she considered going after him but instead took off running in the other direction when the approaching footsteps reminded her of the other hunters.
Grave Makers (Darkside Dreams - Series 1 Book 2) Page 15