The Body Dwellers
By Julie Kazimer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The Body Dwellers © 2013 by Julie Kazimer. All Rights Reserved. For more information, contact OBSCURE Publishing, Denver, Colorado.
www.jakazimer.com
FIRST EDITION
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Table of Contents:
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Author Information
Chapter 1
I started the day with ten fingers and an equal number of toes. But by six o’clock, I was down two knuckles and sported a hairline fracture of my left orbital bone.
All and all, not a bad day.
“Want another beer?” Ivan, the owner and sole employee of Ivan’s Lair, Liquor Emporium, and Tax Accountancy pointed to the empty bottle in front of me.
Opening my good eye, I tried to focus, something I regretted immediately. Ivan wasn’t wearing pants, or underwear, or skin for that matter. He stood in front of me in full muscle, veined, and skinless splendor. “Laundry day?” I gestured to his sagging pectorals.
“Wife shrunk my only skin.” Ivan frowned. “Said she accidentally put it in the dryer.”
I nodded, trying hard not to picture Ivan’s emaciated epidermis. “I warned you not to flirt with those Harpies. Your wife was bound to find out.”
Corporeus Caeles, or Body Dwellers like Ivan and his wife, had a nasty jealous streak. I figured it came from too much body hopping.
Ivan passed me a beer and a bag of frozen peas. The sting of the peas against my fractured bone brought tears to my good eye, but I blinked them away. I might be a girl, but I’d be damned if I’d cry like one.
For a long moment Ivan stared at me. I shifted under his bug-eyed gaze, and scrubbed at a piece of gnome slobber on the sleeve of my leather jacket. Fucking gnomes.
“You’re a good lass, Indeara. Calvin would’ve been proud,” Ivan said referring to my father. Calvin had spent his life warring against the government’s attempt to imprison those of us they called mutants. And what did I do with my powers? I broke fey legs, and kneecapped Larry the Gnome over gambling debts. Yeah, Calvin would’ve been overjoyed.
But Ivan wasn’t finished. “One day, you’re going to make some man very happy. Just like your momma.” I snorted, but he ignored me. His eyes shifted, growing small and rat-like even with his lack of skin. “You know, my son Mikey’s still single.”
No surprise there. Mikey took after Ivan, in that he almost looked better with his skin off than on. Quinn, Ivan’s older black sheep of a son, was an entirely different matter however.
Nevertheless, it’d been three years since I’d last seen Quinn. Three years since he’d turned traitor and slipped beyond the wall to live in the human world. Three years since he’d left me bloody and dying in a rundown motel room.
“No offense, Ivan,” I said, pulling the peas from my eye. “But I’d rather lick a gnome.”
Chapter 2
An hour later, my lunch break over, I rolled off my barstool and headed toward the backroom of Ivan’s Lair where I barely eked out a living. As a front for some of the most vicious illegal fairy fighting on this side of the wall, Ivan’s Lair offered all the excitement of Altered Vegas without the sparkling lights, or half-dressed cocktail waitresses. I shivered, picturing Ivan in fishnet stockings. I glanced back at his skinless splendor. On the other hand…I shook my head and sighed. Time to go back to work.
Behind the closed doors of Ivan’s another world existed. Not in the literal sense, of course, but a place where men and women, mutants and humans alike, gambled away their fortunes. Beyond these walls, one’s DNA didn’t matter as long as he had the money to play. Those who failed to pay found themselves facing a punishment worse than death: Me, a five-foot-six chick dressed in a skullcap, black cargo pants, and pink combat boots.
An odd choice of enforcer, to be sure, but my unique ability to heal and a quick half-Irish, half-mutant temper had served me well. Besides, I had little in the way of outside job skills. I couldn’t type, and I’d damn well didn’t dance, so that left out offices and strip clubs.
I started to unbolt the door to the backroom when the front door opened and a rush of polluted air filled the room. Two men followed the smog inside; each dressed in dark blue suits and black sunglasses. Cops. The HOA or Human Ops Agency kind.
Instead of slipping away unobserved, I returned to my barstool and watched as the men surveyed the lair. Ivan stood behind the bar, his thick muscled arms tucked over his chest, waiting for them to approach. Seconds ticked off the red striped Mutantweiser clock over the doorway.
The tension level increased.
Tick. Tock.
The men didn’t speak or come any farther into the bar. They just stood at the door. An eerie silence mixed with the stench of dirty cop. Whatever they wanted, they wanted it bad enough to find their way here.
Which didn’t bode well for us.
My fingers snaked to the nine-millimeter strapped to my thigh, hidden underneath the folds of my cargo pants. If it was me they wanted, I wouldn’t go without a fight. Someone would bleed.
Probably me.
“Ivan Daniels?” asked the taller of the two men.
Ivan nodded. I swallowed a tiny fission of relief, and instantly felt guilty for my reaction. In many ways since losing my own father, Ivan had been there for me. He’d given me a job when no one else would. He’d made sure I had enough to eat and a place to sleep, all vitally important to an orphaned twelve-year-old mutant living on the street.
“I’m Agent Black and this is Agent Brown,” said the taller agent. “We’re looking for your son.”
The men stepped forward in unison like a badly choreographed boy-band. The muscles in Ivan’s forehead twitched, a sure sign something bad was about to happen. My hand gripped the cold alloy of the nine-millimeter willing Ivan to stay calm.
If he lost his control we were as good as dead. Emotion had no place in the killing business. It made you weak, gave your opponent an opening, and these guys were just waiting for the chance to destroy any mutant, let alone two of us.
In the 1960’s, in what became known as the Mutant Rights Movement, all-out war had broken out between mutants and humans, which resulted in the wall that segregated us from our human counterparts. Since that time, we lived in an uneasy alliance.
Sort of.
“Whadda you want with Mikey?” Ivan’s shoulders tightened, coiling with straining muscle and veins. “He ain’t done nothing wrong.”
In sync the men shook their heads. “No, your other son. We’re here for Quinn Daniels.”
I relaxed. If the HOA wanted Quinn, they could have him. Hell, if I knew where the bastard was I’d hand him over myself.
“Then you’re out of luck,” Ivan said. “Quinn’s dead to me.” He gestured around the room and out the window. “To all of us. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”
The men took a step closer, their hands simultaneously pulling back their suit jackets to flash twin Glock 22’s, in twin leather holsters. Did they rehearse this stuff at agent school?
I held up a hand. “What do you want with Quinn anyway? He’s one of you now.”
“No mutant will ever be one of us,” Agent Black said.
“Thank God.” I lifted my eyes to meet his in an act of both stupidity and defiance. I’d never been good at cowering.
Black grabbed my arm, and yanked me up. My barstool toppled hitting the floor with a loud bang. Pain danced along my nerves, but I refused to s
truggle even as his fingers dug into my shoulder blade.
“What’s your name, boy?” asked the other agent.
Behind him, Ivan and I shared a grin. For the last year, Ivan had begged me to start dressing and acting more like a girl. When I’d ask why, he’d respond: A woman your age should be married and suckling three mutant babies by now, not kneecapping gnomes and twisting fairy wings.
After the hundredth lecture, I’d finally agreed to go out and purchase a hairbrush. When that didn’t shut him up, I splurged on a pair of pink combat boots.
I guess it still wasn’t enough.
Agent Black twisted my arm back, his features distorted with rage. In the nearly empty barroom, the snap of cartilage and bone in my shoulder echoed like mortar fire. Blackness swarmed across my vision edging me toward unconsciousness. I would not cry out know matter what happened. They wouldn’t get the satisfaction.
Agent Brown, shorter and wider than his co-worker, grabbed my chin in his hand. His fingers smelled of cigarette smoke and chocolate. “Tell me your name,” he said tightening his grip.
I spat in his pudgy face.
His fist glanced off the side of my jaw ripping my lip open. Blood spurted from the wound. I jerked back; blue light exploding inside my brain as my skullcap flew off, sending a shower of curly blonde ringlets down the back of my neck.
Yeah, I looked a lot like a dirty version of Shirley freaking Temple or so Quinn had used to point out.
Agent Black released me, and I lurched to the floor. Both agents stared at me, their mouths and eyes wide open like a chicken-fish dangling from a hook.
“You’re a girl,” Black said.
“Brilliant observation.” I curled my legs under me and sprung from the floor. Together, the agents took a step back. Their eyes darted between the exit and me. It appeared that more than my gender had rattled them.
Before their eyes, my split lip began to heal, and a smile crossed Agent Black’s lips. “I know you.” He nodded to his partner. “She’s the one they told us about.”
Shit. Once they knew your name your time was limited.
“She’s a Stannum.” His smug face grew even more confident. “One of the last.”
Stannum. I hated that term. By definition, it meant silver and lead alloy, a cyborg of sorts. While a genetic mutation of metals protected my cells and I healed faster than my human counterparts did, I wasn’t a robot. I felt pain. I bled. I cried.
But humans feared Stannums more than other mutations. Because we were harder to kill or more willing to die, I didn’t know, but fear us they did.
“Leave her alone,” Ivan yelled as Agent Black seized my arm again. “I’ll tell you what you wanna know. Just let the girl alone.”
Nodding, Black released my arm and shoved me against the bar. I stumbled, but stayed on my feet, palming my gun in one fluid motion. I’d had enough manhandling today; first from Larry, a bitter body-dwelling gnome, and now these two assholes with badges. Enough was enough. The next guy to put his hands on me was in for a surprise.
Chocolate-fingered Agent Brown stepped in front of Ivan, his fist hovering at chest level. “Where’s the headquarters of the Resistance?”
I snickered, drawing an evil glare from Agent Black. His eye twitched, which ruined the overall effect. “You’re a fool,” I said, shaking my head. “There is no Resistance. If there ever was one, it died years ago with its leader.”
Agent Brown laughed, flashing tobacco stained teeth. “On the contrary. The Resistance and its leader are very much alive.” He paused. “For now.”
“Are you saying my boy is the leader?” Ivan frowned. “That’s insane. Quinn’s a coward.” He snorted with harsh laughter. “Worse than a coward. He’s a traitor.”
“Be that as it may,” said Agent Black. “When we find him, coward or not, he will die, and the Resistance will be crushed for the last time.”
“Good luck with that,” I said as they pushed open the door. “Be sure to let us know how it all works out.”
Black turned back to me. “Oh, we’ll be in touch. You can count on it, Indeara.”
Chapter 3
On my way home from the Lair paranoia kept me to the shadows. I scanned the empty streets and walked with quiet steps. Somewhere, just beyond the wall that segregated us genetic freaks from the rest of humanity, an evil grew. I could feel it, almost smell it in the atmosphere.
In the past fifteen years thousands of mutants had disappeared. Simply vanished. Scientists offered evolutionary explanations for the disappearing mutant population, but here, behind the wall, we knew the truth. Someone or something was killing us off, one by one.
Filled with a feeling of impending disaster, I crossed the street to my burned-out apartment complex. It had fallen victim to a firebomb during the first mutant-versus-human conflict. Around the same time the government built the wall. It stood less than one block from my apartment. Late at night I often watched the searchlights reflecting off the concrete and wondered what it felt like to be free.
“You’re it,” a voice called from the darkness of a first floor apartment.
Spinning on my heel, I ducked between the busted ceiling beams and concrete barriers littering the complex. Up ahead, the soft hum of a military hovercraft tickled my eardrums, too far away to be of concern. But I filed it in the back of my mind. Who knew what kernel of knowledge might one day save my life?
I paused in the darkness opening my senses to the night. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the moon, I located my prey hiding between twin pillars of brick.
“Bad choice,” I said to my opponent as I crept forward. The shadows concealed her, but not well enough. Worse she’d made one fatal mistake. “What’d I tell you yesterday?” I bent down and pulled her out of the crevasse.
“I forgot.” Her forehead puckered and a small frown crossed her tiny mouth. The whiteness of her skin shone in the moonlight.
“Always have a way out.” I set the child down on the ground and knelt next to her. “Hiding is good, but running is better. Remember that.”
“I will.”
But I knew she wouldn’t. What could I expect from a four-year-old Luna Noctuabundus anyway? Besides her waking when the moon rose. I lifted the child into my arms and stood. Curling her fingers in my skullcap, she stared at the moon. “Where’s your mom?” I asked, gazing down at her torn jumper and scraped knees.
“I don’t know.” A tear dripped from her eye. I brushed it away with my thumb. “Men came and she left with them.”
“It’s okay, Caren.” I patted the child’s back. “Nobody will take care of you until she comes home.” I climbed the steps to my apartment as I tried to quell my rage. This wasn’t the first time Mei had disappeared leaving the young child alone. But damn it, she usually returned before moonrise.
Instead of fumbling for my keys I kicked my front door with the edge of my pink boot. “Go away,” a man yelled from somewhere inside. Settling Caren on my hip, I booted it again. The hinges rattled but held. “Open the damn door,” I yelled.
Caren grinned. “You like to make him mad.”
“Shhh, that’s our secret.” I winked at her and slammed my foot against the wood one more time.
On the other side of the door the man said, “Who is it?”
Caren laughed. “Nobody.”
The door swung open and the fiercest of giants stood in its frame, a scowl covering his handsome face. One eye, dead center of his forehead, stared down at us. “You again.” Nobody the Cyclops, and my best friend since the fourth grade, pointed at Caren. “I eat small mutants like you for breakfast.”
“Good. I forgot to go shopping this week.” I shoved Caren into Nobody’s arms and scooted around him, which wasn’t easy, considering he took up most of the doorway and a good portion of the hallway. “So she’ll have to do.”
“What the hell did you do to this kid?” Nobody held Caren out to me by the scruff of her neck. She dangled from his thick arm like a mutated yo-yo. He
shook his head, sending her flying back and forth through the air. “She smells rank.”
The poor kid looked even worse, dressed in a faded jumper dress layered with dirt, and a pair of socks with holes in the toes. On her thin arms freckles mixed with small bruises.
“She looks no worse than you.” I winked at Caren as I passed the living room with its gigantic computer screens, and headed into the kitchen. Nobody followed, the small girl tucked under his massive arm.
“Any messages?” I poked through the refrigerator, saddened by its lack of chocolate cake and chilled vodka. Oh well, I’d make do with baloney and a beer. I sniffed the meat. Okay, moldy baloney, but at least the beer was semi-cold.
Nobody winced, grabbed the meat from my hands, and tossed it in the trash with a scowl. I rolled my eyes and popped open the beer. It tasted like paradise after the long day I’d had.
After the run-in with Black and Brown my night had not improved. I’d broke two nails clawing out the eye socket of a deadbeat Druid, and had slipped on a pile of elf shit. Sometimes my job sucked, but then again, so did living in a refrigerator box under a bridge and pawing through trash bins for half-eaten TV dinners.
Speaking of sucking.
“Your Grandfather left you a message.” Nobody set Caren on the kitchen counter and gestured to a computerized message board hanging on the wall next to our bug-eyed cat clock.
I nodded, but made no move to read the missive. After all, it was always the same: Take your rightful place in the family business. Which would’ve been more appealing if the business wasn’t Resden Enterprises, the leading research and development corporation in mutant obliteration.
To be fair Granddad had no idea what I was, nor did he know his precious daughter, Emily, had fallen in love and married a mutant. My parents had concealed the truth for years, and I saw no reason to ruin their deception. But for whatever reason, thirteen years after my parents had succumbed to the mutant plague; my Granddad hired a hunter to find me.
Luckily Nobody and his computers stumbled onto the hunter’s quest for information, and had warned me in time. With Nobody’s help and a few bribes, we erased my real mutated life and created Indeara 2.0, my successful, worldly, non-mutant persona. That seemed to satisfy my grandfather, or so I’d thought.
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