Sequence

by Darren Wearmouth

  “Ditto that,” Brian added. He lifted his head for the first time since getting on the train. His face was puffy and red. “I want to see Gray pay for this. One way or another.”

  “Okay,” Jacob said. He slapped Brian on the back and gave Emma a smile. “Thanks, I mean. Really.”

  They sat in silence until the train stopped.

  The doors opened and they stepped out, moving sluggishly like zombies. Jacob’s legs felt like he’d been squatting twice his body weight all day as he climbed the stairs to the subway exit.

  A set of footsteps echoed from behind them. Heavy feet. Gaining speed.

  “Shit, he’s here.” Emma pulled on Jacob’s arm. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

  Jacob looked behind them. The synthetic was there, its face passive.

  Together, they hurried their way up to street level, Brian shuffling behind.

  Jacob squinted against the afternoon sun. A bright glare reflected off a glass skyscraper. The sound of the city’s breath hit him physically. The din of traffic and pedestrians came in waves. Emma kept them moving at as fast a pace as possible with regards to Brian’s lack of speed dodging in and out of the oncoming flow of people.

  Behind them, numerous voices called out. Jacob looked back and saw the synthetic pushing pedestrians out of the way as if they were nothing more than cardboard cutouts. Brian’s face was a deep reddish-purple color, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “Come on, Bri. Keep going,” Jacob called out. Fear kept him moving—and the thought of being tossed into traffic by Gray’s maniac.

  “Here,” Emma said as she led them down into a quieter avenue.

  Without the human tide to hold them back, they managed to gain some distance from the synthetic.

  A cloud of fog blew into the avenue, and when they got to the end, Jacob could smell salt air mixed with diesel. A foghorn sounded, followed by the squawk of seagulls. They’d come to the bank of the Hudson River. Pleasure craft and ferries were making their journeys across the river.

  Tourists lined up on the bank for various boat rides and tours. Up ahead, Jacob saw a man in a blue and white uniform rope off a jetty. He made his way to a ferry full of camera-wielding Japanese tourists. Jacob stole a look behind him.

  The synthetic had just turned out of the street; he stopped and looked around, trying to get a fix on them.

  As Jacob passed a boat with a full line of paying customers, he screamed out, “Someone please help. That man’s a killer; he’s pretending to be a cop.”

  At first people just laughed, but then they followed Jacob’s pointing hand and saw the synthetic. His uniform looked worse in the daylight, the blood shining and glossy.

  “Someone call 911,” Jacob said as he carried on running. He was pleased to see a number of people reach for their cell phones. A pair of large men standing at the ticket booth stepped out and approached the synthetic.

  Both men were flung to the side, crashing into the barrier, the ticket booth, and a number of customers.

  During the disturbance, Brian had dropped further back.

  “Bri!” Jacob urged him on, but Brian had slowed to a fast walk. “Push it. Come on!”

  Brian waved his hands as if to say ‘go, leave me.’ Jacob stopped and ran back to Brian, grabbing his arm and throwing it over his shoulders, taking some of the weight off and then moving again, urging Brian along with him.

  All the while their silent stalker pushed his way through the crowd, gaining ground.

  Jacob thought of stopping and fighting, but then he remembered Phillip being lifted in the air and thrown down the stairs like a rag doll.

  No, he’d carry on. Emma had reached the end of the jetty and called out to the captain, but she couldn’t be heard over its diesel engines. The river bubbled around the stern of the two-tier white boat.

  “The boat,” Jacob said to Brian. “We’ve got to get on.”

  “Quick, guys, we can jump it,” Emma said.

  Jacob turned to his left and toward the edge of the bank, pulling Brian with one arm around his waist. Up ahead, further along the bank, Jacob saw two cops on horseback.

  The boat’s engines grew louder. Emma, at the edge, looked beyond Jacob. “We gotta go now.”

  “Go,” Jacob said, handing her his backpack. He looked behind. The synthetic was so close now. Jacob had a choice: go for the boat, or get the cops’ attention. But would they even listen to him? He’d have to explain so much, and he didn’t have time.

  Emma grabbed the backpack and leapt off the bank, grabbing on to the railings. A pair of old Japanese women gasped and stepped away as she climbed aboard.

  Brian wheezed as he approached the edge.

  “After three, we jump, yeah?” Jacob said.

  Brian nodded.

  “One, two, three. Jump!” Jacob launched himself forward, his arms outstretched. His fingers just gripped the rail on the stern of the boat, and the wake pushed against his legs. A pair of hands gripped his wrist, then another grabbed his arm. Emma and one of the tourists helped him in.

  They got him onto the deck and the boat accelerated further away from the bank. “Brian,” Jacob said, looking around, “where the hell’s Brian?”

  He turned and faced the shore, watching in horror as the synthetic pulled Brian back from the edge by a fistful of Brian’s shirt. Brian flailed uselessly, his hands slapping against the pseudo-cop but having no effect.

  Jacob pushed Emma and the tourist away from him. He stepped up to the rail and was about to dive off when Emma pulled him back.

  “No!” Jacob screamed.

  The synthetic gripped the sides of Brian’s head, and with one twist, his heavy body collapsed to the pier.

  The two mounted policemen caught up with the synthetic. The abomination just stood there, watching Jacob, its face hardened, chiseled and blank. It got to its knees as the two cops trained their weapons on it. The next moment it was cuffed and taken away.

  Brian’s body remained limp on the pier, unmoving.

  Jacob slumped to his knees, pressed his face against the rail and screamed.

  Emma placed a hand on his back. Not a word was shared.

  What could be said?

  First Steven, then Phillip, now Brian… Jacob’s fury burned within, and he conjured the image of him driving a knife into Gray’s chest. Somehow, Gray would pay for this—with his life, and preferably by Jacob’s hands.

  The boat turned, heading back for the docking area.

  A pair of police squad cars had parked at an angle across the street, blocking the gathering crowd. Someone had placed a blanket over Brian’s body.

  Two cops took Jacob and Emma off the boat when it docked. They were reading him his rights, but it didn’t make any sense. The words just echoed around his head. He was numb to it, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

  One moment Brian was right there with him, then the next…

  Emma was crying as they were separated, arrested, placed in different cars.

  Jacob tried to speak, explain, but nothing would come.

  He shut his eyes and tried to wipe away the image of Brian’s body falling to the ground, the look of complete passivity on the synthetic’s face.

  The window was cold against Jacob’s head as he slumped against the door. The car moved off through traffic. Onlookers stared at him through the window. All he could think about was how he should have made sure Brian got on the boat.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  12:30 p.m., Day 3, Denny’s Diner, Portland

  Zoe swallowed the bitter diner coffee and placed the cup on the Formica tabletop. Cooley dabbed at his face with a napkin, clearing the grease from his chin. A piece of sausage had stuck to his cheek. She didn’t bother telling him. Instead, she glanced out the window and watched the afternoon sun burn away the haze.

  “Are you not the least bit curious about these synthetics, Cooley?” Zoe said.

  “Nope. Just robots in meat bags, aren’t they? Gray and his egghead
friends just messing around with science. Probably didn’t have many friends growing up.”

  “And I suppose you did?” She found it impossible that this pig of a man had friends.

  “I got by okay,” Cooley said. “Football star back then gave me certain perks, if you know what I mean. I’m still good, by the way. Might have a few miles on the clock, but this engine still purrs like a kitten.”

  Zoe looked away, avoiding the temptation to dry heave at the thought of Cooley sweating and puffing away over some poor girl.

  Her cell phone rang.

  She answered, “Agent Vega.”

  “Ms Vega, I’m returning your call? It’s Christine Devereaux, Quentin’s niece, from his office. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for you as requested, but none of the family have seen him since yesterday.”

  “Is it usual for him to disappear and be unavailable?” Zoe asked.

  Christine couldn’t be much older than eighteen by the sounds of her Valley girl accent. “Not really, I don’t think so. It’s like, he goes on business trips, you know? But he’s usually on his cell or email. Do you think something’s happened to him?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine. We just need to talk with him. If you hear from him, you’ll call me immediately?”

  “Oh yeah, sure, right away.”

  “Thanks, Christine.”

  “Sure, no problem. Bye.”

  Zoe cut the call and slumped against the plastic bench seat.

  Cooley was making notes in his little black notebook. He was always making notes, she thought. On what, she had no idea. Probably drawing pictures of tits.

  “Well, that was the last roll of the dice,” Zoe said. “His niece has no ideas either.”

  “Probably ran off with the money to the Bahamas,” Cooley said. “Think about it; he brokers a deal with the director to test run these robots—”

  “Synthetically enhanced humans.”

  “Yeah, whatever, so he does a deal with these things, they malfunction, shit hits the fan, and he grabs the cash and heads for sunnier climes. Why stick around? Who’s gonna buy those things after this? No one would touch them if they thought their colleagues would have their heads caved in, or removed.”

  “Have some respect, Cooley, those people were your colleagues. Besides, I don’t think money is an issue to someone like Devereaux.”

  Cooley shrugged while swallowing almost half a cup of coffee in one go, his large Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his swollen neck.

  “In this game, no one’s your friend. We’re all expendable. Get that through your head and you might move up in the world.”

  Zoe’s cell rang again; she skipped the ID and answered. “Christine, you got news for me?”

  “Agent Vega?”

  “Oh, Director, sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

  “And who’s Christine?”

  “Devereaux’s niece. She hasn’t seen him either. None of his colleagues or family have heard from him since yesterday. His cell phone hasn’t been used since our meeting.”

  “That’s troubling, but I want you to forget about him for now. We’ve got bigger issues to deal with. Where are you?”

  “Just refueling at a diner.”

  “Is there a TV where you are?”

  Zoe looked over to the counter. Behind the large waitress she saw a flat-screen TV broadcasting some sports coverage silently.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Switch on CNN.”

  Zoe stood and moved to the counter, squeezing past a heavyset trucker buckling a stool beneath him. She flashed her ID at the waitress. “Can you switch that over to CNN for a moment, please?”

  The waitress glanced at the ID and gave her a world-weary but practiced smile. “Sure thing, darling.”

  “You see it?” the director said.

  Zoe watched a piece of amateur video of a cop chasing three people through the streets of New York. The video cut to them by the bank of the Hudson. The cop grabbed the largest of the three people and…

  “Oh Christ, what the—?”

  “Look closely,” the director said. “You recognize anything?”

  The video, taken by a smartphone, panned in close as two cops arrested the murderer. The focus blurred momentarily as the frame shook. CNN freeze-framed and zoomed onto the man. He was a carbon copy of Blue from the safe house.

  “Um, is that one of the—” She cut herself off, realizing that the waitress and the trucker were staring at her. She turned her back and sat back down in the booth.

  “What’s going on?” Cooley said.

  Zoe put her hand over the cell. “I’m on with the director. I’ll fill you in, in a second.”

  Cooley stood and watched the coverage.

  “Vega, are you there?”

  “Yes, sorry, I was… that’s definitely one of the synthetics. I thought there were only two.”

  “About that. Things have escalated somewhat. You destroyed all the evidence at the safe house, right?”

  “I did,” Zoe said, hoping he couldn’t hear the lie in her voice. The EMP device was still hidden in her car. “But what do you mean escalated?”

  “I have a number of squads working for me on various projects. The synthetics at your safe house weren’t the only ones. I agreed with Devereaux to trial ten of them.”

  “Ten? Did they all—”

  “No, they didn’t malfunction, but they have gone missing. We’ve got eight synthetics unaccounted for in the wild.”

  “Jesus! Is the one in New York one of the eight?”

  “No.”

  It sank in then. Just how many of these damned things were there?

  “Vega, listen to me; everyone’s dead. I need your help.”

  “Who is everyone, Director? What are we looking at here?”

  “The only thing you need to know right now is that there are eight synthetics on the loose. They are the ones I know about. I want you and Cooley to fly over to Alaska and pay Julian Gray a visit. Bring him and Murphy in. We’re shutting this operation down for good. We have to cut it off at the source. You understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “There’s no think so here, Agent Vega. There is only action. A C130 is on its way to your location to pick you and Cooley up. I’ve provided a tactical squad. I want whatever you can get your hands on from XNA taken away to a compound in Montana. The squad has location details. Interrogate Gray and Murphy; find out what they know. Use Cooley for that if you don’t want to extract information from them.”

  “Why are you telling me all this, Director? With respect, Cooley is the more experienced one here.” She glanced over. He’d switched it back to the sports channel and was talking shit with the trucker about some obscure football rule.

  “You, I can trust. Cooley has uses, but I need you to lead this. There’s one more thing. We’ve recovered some data and a biochip from the two who survived the New York attack. They’ll be joining you. Interview them and find out what they know. We can’t allow any of this to get out. Are you clear on what has to happen, Vega?”

  “Yes, Director. How long until the C130 arrives?”

  “The plane’s coming from McChord. It’ll be at Portland International in thirty minutes. Get your asses over there. Brief Cooley on the way. I want you two to focus on this one. And keep me updated.”

  Zoe didn’t even bother saying goodbye, as she knew it’d go straight to dead air as the director hung up. She pocketed the cell phone and sat at the table.

  Cooley had left his notebook on the table. She couldn’t help but slide it over and take a look. Numbers covered page after page. The same eight digits scrawled over and over.

  “Hey,” Cooley said, snatching it away. “That’s private.”

  “Sorry,” Zoe said, feeling embarrassed.

  Cooley sat down, seemingly forgetting all about it. “So what did the Almighty want from us this time?”

  “Arrest and interrogation of Gray and Murphy.”


  A smile stretched across Cooley’s face. “About fucking time.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  1:00 p.m., Day 3, XNA Industries, Alaska

  Gray carefully clipped off the end of the matchstick with a sharp pair of wire cutters. He smoothed the edges with sandpaper, each stroke slow and deliberate, smoothing off the burrs from the cut. Then he placed the thin piece of wood above the window of the officer’s quarters on a half-built model of HMS Victory.

  He’d long admired the famous battleship that led from the front in a decisive victory against greater numbers. The strategy had much to admire.

  Devereaux previously reminded him that the admiral died at the point of victory, in the bowels of the ship. At least the investor wouldn’t be doing any advising again.

  Gray smiled as he gently applied glue, leaning over the two-foot-long vessel to fix the miniature lintel into position. Just as he was about to put it in place, one of the security units barged through into the office, holding Merriweather by the arm.

  Tears tracked down her face, dragging a blackened trail of makeup behind on her once-perfect skin.

  Gray dropped the lintel to the desk and stood up, leaning his weight on the desk’s surface. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Merriweather shook like a newborn lamb.

  “Well?” Gray said, turning his attention to the security unit. “Status update.”

  “I found Miss Merriweather trying to climb out of Mr. Devereaux’s office window, Doctor,” the synthetic said, his grip still pinning the trembling woman in place.

  “You’re animals,” Merriweather said, spluttering it out, saliva spraying from her lips.

  “We’re all animals, Tanya,” Gray said. “Don’t you see? Civilization is an illusion. To deny our evolution and base drives is to deny ourselves freedom. Don’t you want to be free, Tanya? Don’t you want to be free of the bonds of this sick society that we live in?”

  Her mouth opened before closing again, the words unable to come. Not unexpected, Gray thought. So many people lived their lives without any autonomy.