Reapers

by Bryan Davis

  “Close enough.” She crumpled the note. “Our organization decided to use me to infiltrate the system to get clues about any falsehoods in the Gateway story, but when we moved to North America, an assassin caught up with us and killed my mother.”

  I stroked my chin. “Interesting. Mex told me she died before you learned about your birthmark.”

  “There are several versions of my story going around. Anyway, the Gatekeeper was satisfied with getting revenge for the rejection insult. He didn’t know anything about our organization, so he didn’t pursue my father or me. Not long after that, my father put me into Reaper training, but he died in a car accident, so the next in line in our organization took over, and she watched over my progress.”

  “She? I assume you know her name.”

  “I do, but I’m not allowed to tell anyone. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Go on.”

  “Since my mother was considered such an important Reaper, everyone assumed I inherited her talents, so our organization pushed to have me assigned to the Jungle right away. In fact, they specifically asked for the district I’m in.”

  “Because they knew it’s a tough district?” I shook my head. “That’s a killer assignment even for the daughter of Tokyo.”

  “That’s not why.” She pressed a fingertip against my chest. “They asked for that district because it’s next to yours.”

  I blinked at her. “They put you next to me on purpose?”

  “I told you my people knew about your medicine smuggling.” She set her hands on her hips. “They hoped that meant you’re no friend of the Council. Since you’re willing to risk your life and your quota to help others, it means you’re not a typical Reaper.”

  “But I’ve never been a Gateway denier. It works. I’ve seen it. Souls really go into it.”

  She lowered her head and whispered, “I saw it, too.”

  “Exactly. So now you know. Denying it is useless.”

  She looked up at me. “But we don’t know where it takes souls. That’s why I think a Reaper needs to go there and find out.”

  I shook my head. “You’re asking the impossible. You heard Bartholomew. Even if a Reaper goes through the Gateway, another Reaper has to pull him out, and the one who pulls him out will get stuck.”

  Sing propped her chin with a hand. “So we need a Reaper who’s willing to take a huge risk to bring someone back.”

  “A huge risk? You’re talking about dying. That’s more than a risk. And besides, who would be the first one to go? You need one dead Reaper to make the trip and another one to transfer him back.”

  “That’s true, but a dead Reaper already made the trip. We just need one to bring her home.”

  “Her?” I half closed an eye. “Who?”

  Sing bit her lip again. As she stared at me, her chin quivered. “My mother.”

  “Your mother! But how? If she died almost two years ago—”

  “I’ll tell you more later.” Sing pushed my arm. “You’d better go. You don’t want Alex to get angrier than she already is.”

  “All right, all right.” I hustled into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and took a quick shower. A few minutes later, I was dressed and ready to go.

  When I left the bathroom, Sing stood near the door holding my cloak. With a dramatic twirl, she wrapped it around my back and fastened the clasp in front.

  “Lock it in?” she asked as she poised the clasp over my valve.

  “Go ahead. Now that I know Theresa’s name, I should ask Crandyke what he knows about her.”

  She pushed the clasp key into the valve and locked it in place. The fibers shimmered, brighter than usual, likely due to Sing’s brushing job.

  I slid my arms into the sleeves. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She wrapped her hands around one of mine. “And thank you for trusting me, Phoenix. It means a lot.”

  “Of course I trust you. Why wouldn’t I?” Even as I uttered the words, I regretted them. I still hadn’t asked why she couldn’t see Tori last night.

  “I hope you keep that attitude.” Letting a smile break through, she laid a hand on her stomach. “By the way, if you could find something for me to eat, that would be great. Maybe at lunchtime?”

  I returned her smile. “I’ll do my best.” I grabbed the tablet off the dresser and breezed out the door. As I strode down the hall, I spoke into my cloak fibers. “Good morning, Crandyke. I hope you had a good night.”

  “I had an amazing night.” His voice came through bright and cheery. “Someone brushed your cloak for nearly an hour. It was resplendent. Better than one of those chairs with the thousand-fingers massage. If that keeps up, I won’t be in any hurry to get to the Gateway.”

  “I’ll give your compliments to the masseuse.” I hustled through the door at the end of the hall and jogged down the steps. “That guard in my hall last night was named Theresa Andrews. Know anything about her?”

  “No. She must be recent. Not my hire.”

  “Recent, huh? That makes sense. She didn’t act like someone who hated her job yet.” Theresa’s face appeared in my mind. She could easily be the tweeter. I would have to keep my eye on her. “Thanks, Crandyke. I’ll get back with you in a little while.” I unplugged my clasp and hurried on.

  When I arrived at the dining area, Alex stood at the doorway, dressed in her usual leather getup, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand. Before I could get a look inside, she threw the cup into a trash can, grabbed my arm, and pushed me to the lobby. “That stunt you pulled last night nearly got two guards fired.”

  “What do I care about your guards?” I jerked away and straightened my sleeve. “I already told you I’m trying to figure out a way to spring Colm’s family, so I went exploring. You shouldn’t act so surprised.”

  “You think you’re so smart.” Alex lifted a hand as if to slap me but quickly lowered it. With her jacket open, the holster and gun came into view. “If a guard catches you out past curfew, the orders are to shoot to kill. Got it?”

  “I’m in lockdown now. I couldn’t leave my room at night if I wanted to.”

  She pushed my valve button, making it protrude. As energy leaked out, she grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the wall. “Just remember our deal. You’ll cooperate with the reapings. No complaints, or I’ll make you shrivel.” She let go of my hair and pressed my valve stem back in place. “Understood?”

  “I remember the deal.” Ignoring a blossoming headache, I dug into my pocket and pulled out the microphones. I grasped her wrist and slapped them into her palm. “I’m not the one with the bad memory.”

  Alex clenched her fist around them. Lines dug into her brow, etching a menacing scowl. “It’s going to be a pleasure watching your smart-aleck smirk wilt when the prisoners start dropping like flies. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

  My throat tightened, but I resisted swallowing. “I’m a Reaper. I’ll do my job.”

  She stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll see about that, Phoenix.” She patted me on the cheek. “I have something in mind that will test your words.”

  Her touch felt cold, like death itself. I refused to cringe.

  “I’ll be back very soon.” She walked past me and exited the door leading to the prison yard.

  Holding a hand on the back of my head, I walked to the dining area. Shanghai stood just inside the door. “She’s a witch without a broom.”

  “You heard?”

  Shanghai massaged my head’s tender spot. “I sneaked up and eavesdropped. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” I winced at the pressure—a good kind of pain. “She’s also a witch with a wallop.”

  “I tried to talk to her before you got here, but she told me to buzz off.” Shanghai kept a finger on the lump. “Want some ice for this?”

  “No. I’ll be all right.”

  She lowered her hand. “Breakfast is just a bagel with an egg and a sausage patty,
but it’s not bad.”

  “That’ll do.”

  We entered the dining room together and sat at the same table as before. Shanghai’s bagel lay half eaten on a paper plate next to a tall Styrofoam cup of coffee. I set my computer tablet on my side of the table and slid into the chair. My own bagel sat askew on its plate as if slapped together by a blind man. “Where’d you get the coffee?”

  Shanghai pointed at a table near the door. A coffeemaker dripped black liquid into a pot next to a stack of cups. I got up, poured a cup, and began sipping as I walked back to my chair. The coffee was hot and bitter, a fitting wake-up alarm for a place like this.

  “I found a microphone under this chair and got rid of it,” Shanghai said. “Maybe Alex won’t bother with bugging us anymore.”

  I nodded. “After our little episode just now, you’re probably right.”

  After I ate about half of my bagel and Shanghai nearly finished hers, Alex walked in and called, “Turn on your tablets, pull up the map on the screen, and follow me.”

  We downed our coffee, grabbed our tablets and partial bagels, and filed out after Alex. As I passed through the doorway, I smiled and nodded at a gray-haired woman wearing an apron, apparently the clean-up person. She turned away without acknowledging my gesture. Maybe she was a prisoner assigned to this detail, and seeing Reapers fueled rumors that many of them would die soon. Who could blame her for worrying? Or for hating us.

  When we entered the central prison yard, I took a bite of my bagel and blinked at the misty air. The cool breeze made me glad for the long sleeves and cloak, though the moisture would irritate Crandyke. He’d just have to deal with it.

  Eating while we walked, we tucked our tablets under our cloaks and continued following Alex toward one of several squarish buildings that surrounded the complex. Just as I swallowed my last bite, a male teenager exited the watchtower and walked toward us. Wearing the signature tunic, trousers, and cloak, he appeared to be a Reaper, especially considering his expression and body language—aloof, restless, serious. Blond and clean-shaven, he strode with confident steps. His muscles, evident in his bulging sleeves, proved that he was a force to be reckoned with.

  I studied his profile. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.

  When he caught up with Alex, the two walked side by side, whispering. No expressions or inflections gave away their moods.

  When we arrived at a building’s rusted door, already open enough for us to pass through, the new Reaper entered first, followed by Alex. After we all had taken several steps inside, they stopped and turned toward us, though they kept their heads low and continued whispering.

  Behind them, an assembly line formed a square, the closest corner only a few steps away from us. Men, women, and children, including Colleen, stood at stations on the outside of the square, some assembling and some passing objects along.

  Several workers within the square, ranging from about five to fifteen years old, including both of the Fitzpatrick girls, ran from cardboard boxes at the center to the stations, distributing thin wires of various colors, white disks the size of a manhole cover, and tiny hardware that looked like nuts, bolts, and screws.

  In one corner, a huge disklike stone stood on edge, spinning clockwise so fast the perimeter blurred. A woman sat on a stool holding a curved piece of glass against the disk, shifting the glass every few seconds. Close by, a little boy squirted mist over the stone from a spray bottle. The bottom edge whirred about a foot above the floor, clearly a death trap for anyone caught underneath.

  I swallowed hard. So many children! Were they planning on killing the adult criminals and sending the children to orphanages, or were the children to be victims as well? I scanned the square. Colm stood near the far corner at a welding station wearing dark, protective glasses as he held one of the nearly completed pedestal-like disks in place for the welder. With sparks flying all around, he didn’t seem to care that some landed on his cap and shirt.

  A swarthy, middle-aged man walked slowly around the square, looking on at each workstation, perhaps a foreman assigned to help out wherever possible.

  I scanned the faces again. No sign of Fiona. She must have been stationed elsewhere.

  I leaned close to Shanghai and kept my voice as low as possible. “What do you think of this new Reaper?”

  “Let’s see…” She rolled her eyes upward. “Handsome, mysterious, handsome, strong, and did I mention handsome?”

  “A couple of times. I get the picture.”

  She slid her arm around mine. “But not as handsome as you, gorgeous.”

  “I appreciate the compliment. But does he look familiar?”

  “Now that you mention it.” She gave him a hard stare. “Wasn’t he with us on the train to the Gateway?”

  I added my own stare and tried to match his features to the shadowed faces on the train. Yes, he was the second Reaper who boarded the car after we did. I curled my fingers into a fist. “He was watching us. I was wondering if he planted the syringe on Mex.”

  “A spy trying to sabotage us?”

  “Maybe. I wouldn’t put anything past Alex.”

  Alex cleared her throat loudly. When we focused on her, she spoke like a tour guide giving a memorized talk. “This is the facility’s assembly room. Look for the central rectangle on your map.”

  I withdrew my tablet and pressed my thumb on its screen. When the icons appeared, I tapped on the map. The screen drew the left half, then froze. I slapped the back, but it just shut off. The odor of burnt wires rose to my nostrils.

  “Look on with me.” Shanghai held her tablet where I could see it. “Mine’s been acting funky, too. I guess we got the bottom of the barrel.”

  Alex continued in a lively tone. “Since this has been a corrections facility for the past three decades, the Gatekeeper insisted that the inmates do something educational and practical, so the Council converted the former factory into a plant that produces what we need to create a new Gateway depot. Reapers in our area will no longer have to endure a long train ride. You will deliver souls here, and they will be conducted to the central Gateway as usual.”

  I whispered to Shanghai. “The prisoners are building their own soul transports, and they probably don’t even know it.”

  Alex nodded toward the new Reaper. “Go ahead.”

  He folded his hands behind his back, his brow low. “My name is Peter, short for Saint Petersburg. I was a Reaper in Miami’s gang district for three years and have been a Cardinal in Chicago for the last two. Alex asked me to speak because I took part in a special reaping in Miami that’s similar to what you’ll be doing here. The bottom line is simple. A mass reaping can be intimidating, but don’t worry. I got through it. So can you. It’s all for the best.” He added a nod and backed away.

  “Thank you, Peter.” Alex stepped in front of him. “Now, go out the way you came in and turn left. Next we’ll see the prisoners’ dining area and sleeping quarters.”

  As we exited, Shanghai whispered, “Why was Peter talking about reaping with so many prisoners around?”

  I shrugged. “My guess is he and Alex don’t care what the workers hear. They can’t do much to stop a reaping.”

  We passed into a light drizzle and raised our hoods. “This is getting creepier all the time,” Shanghai said. “These are families. No one looks like a criminal.”

  “You’re right. This isn’t a tour. It’s a conditioning drill to see if we’re squeamish.”

  “So the demonstration this afternoon is going to be—”

  “Shhh.” I looked over my shoulder. Alex and Peter exited the building and breezed by us without a glance, hurrying to take the lead. When they passed out of earshot, I continued in a low tone. “Let’s just keep our eyes open. Memorize everything—potential weapons, hiding places, exits—everything. Whatever they’re planning for the demonstration, you can bet it’s not going to be good.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When we entered the ne
xt building, Alex and Peter stood several steps inside, again whispering to each other. Carried by a draft, the odor of urine and sweaty bodies assaulted my nose. A concrete floor extended a hundred steps straight ahead and to the left. Sleeping mats and wadded sheets dotted the expanse, and fifteen or so burnt-orange picnic tables and adjoining wooden benches stood in haphazard array near the right-hand wall. At least a dozen people roamed the floor or lay on the mats. Their glowing eyes and semitransparent bodies gave away their status.

  “Ghosts,” I whispered to Shanghai.

  “Mostly level ones and twos.” She nodded toward an open door near the right rear corner. “Except for her.”

  At the door, a woman wearing a gray smock pulled a lever on a bucket to wring out a mop, then began mopping tiles inside the corner room. No ghost could do that.

  I moved a few steps closer. The woman’s sloping shoulders and lackluster effort gave away her sorrow. Fiona. Apparently she had been assigned to clean a community bathroom while everyone else worked in the assembly area.

  Fiona looked our way. I pulled my hood lower over my eyes. It would be best to avoid contact for now.

  “As you can see,” Alex said, waving her arm toward the interior, “you already have souls to collect. More than thirty ghosts wander throughout the compound, though most congregate here.”

  “How many ghosts are visible to you?” Shanghai asked.

  Alex squinted at her. “That’s an odd question.”

  “Well… I heard that you were once a Reaper, so…”

  Alex nodded. “So you’re checking on my abilities.” She scanned the room. “I see one, two, three, four, five, six level ones. One, two, three, four level twos. And the level threes?” She swiveled as she pointed directly at each one. “A little shirtless boy, a woman lying on a mat, an old man sitting at a table, and…” She pulled her hand back. “No. The woman with the mop is a worker here.” As she turned toward us, she riveted her stare on me. “She is very much alive… for now.”

  I stared back at her. I couldn’t let her intimidate me with a thinly veiled threat.