The Zero Patient Trilogy (Book Two): (A Dystopian Science Fiction Series)

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The Zero Patient Trilogy (Book Two): (A Dystopian Science Fiction Series) Page 10

by Harmon Cooper


  She nods, ‘Then we will kill them.’

  ‘Yes, we will.’ Revenge simmers within – I remember what they did, how they pummeled me with metalzips. If they are faceless, I will liberate, if they are not, I will improvise. Demise for the blasph, those who spearhead atrocity will be met with sheer ferocity. ‘They hit me with one of these.’ I take zippy out of my pocket.

  ‘You touched a metalzip?’

  Her eyes widen and thin. She’s calm again, oblivious to my obvious blasph. She doesn’t know Halo told me to apprehend it and I keep that a secret for now.

  ‘His name is Zippy.’

  ‘How do you know it is a he?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  (Don’t look there!)

  ‘Can I touch it?’

  She places her hands before me, beggar palms cupped. I deposit Zippy and she examines it with a curious look on her face. No distaste or registered disgrace.

  Commotion outside cuts our moment short. A siren rings and she hands Zippy back. The whiz and hum of motocarts signals the start of something new. Fight or flight, I generally skip the latter. With Beard tails’ big shiv in my hand and a clubbing stick at my waist, I make haste to the window where I catch a series of OL Officers metalzip flinging at a crowd of Southerners.

  ‘They’re… all of them… ’

  (FACELESS!)

  Insanity tickles my soul and I’m turning to the door when Greene stops me, her voice piercing the night like a white light bright in my sight.

  ‘Don’t go that way.’

  One glance at her and I see Halo, her shining skin and her blue and green eyes.

  (Blasph!)

  It’s fine, Hunter.

  Greene’s face returns to normal and she nods in the direction of the back of the house. Like a couple of mice we creep sneak towards the back. Tiptoe attack to be had once we slip out and into an alley separating the house from a depot. Sure enough, we are now behind the line of OL Officers and their motocarts. They continue with their metalzip flingers and a quick headcount is all I need to know we are in over our heads. No dread or worry, instead I pray for strength and absolution for the final solution which I’ve concocted.

  ‘Grant me the strength to become one of the chosen, the brazen, the bold, the daring. Goddess protect us from their weapons and the curse of their existences. Lead us not into facelessness; allow us to liberate their evil. For the Stayed, the Devout, and all the Canyon’s people.’

  I hear you, Hunter. Go forth! Conquer!

  Greene quickly repeats the prayer amidst the psychotic disorder cascading through the streets. Murdering shrieks and broken sobs define the mob.

  ‘Shall we?’ I ask, biting my lip. A quick calculation tells me that even the speed of a lizard won’t help us now. I grip my clubbing stick, aim to maim.

  The hunt is on.

  Luck or duck, I move like a scorpion on fire and knock the dying shit out of the closest OL Officer, who stands on the back of a motocart flinging metalzips into the crowd. The response isn’t loud; the response is sudden – that familiar thud. The metal tyrant pivots, falls on top of me.

  Deafening thunder and I flip him over. Metal man goes for my neck and I give him a gutting with the big ol’ shiv, spilling something not-blood and I give him another and another. I hear Greene scream and manage to kick him off. Finishing touches placed via my R Boot on his throat, I’m animal instinct moving towards Greene and her attackee. Crack and smack, I boot his face and tackle, stab the faceless fuck until he’s bleeding real blood this time no metal.

  No time to meddle. A metalzip hits me in the shoulder and I toss my clubbing stick in response. One weapon to wield easier than two, I take a leap and wrestle the weapon from the nearest man’s hands. It hits the ground, spits a metalzip into the air; I give him a shivving that would make a warrior proud. The War Zone all around, I catch Greene bring a woman twice her size down with a shiv to the back, only to be tossed aside by a different monster of a man.

  ‘Hunter Miscavige,’ he says, walking towards me amidst the violence. ‘Hunter Miscavige,’ he calls again, the faceless forsaken deathborn scorn sworn, ‘you are ordered to disengage and return to the Church of the South’.

  (He knows your name!)

  Silence him, Hunter!

  He raises his weapon and Greene springs onto his shoulders, drives her shiv into the side of his neck, crazed look on her face, bloodlust apparent, mouth open, her eyes banshee blades even after the man reaches over his head and picks her up by the back of her neck.

  I don’t give him the chance he needs to squeeze. Advancing breeze ease, I sink one deep into metal man’s gut, evident in the not-blood that spills and the way my blade moves through him. No matter – to liberate is to liberate all kinds, from those of flesh to those of metal. Facelessness unites them all.

  (Watch out!)

  Man down man down, I hit the ground. Air out air out, my stomach empties. Bone reassembly, my throat is scraped by low groans from places unknown. Another crack from a clubbing stick and I’m dumb numb, unable to gather my thoughts.

  Fight for me, Hunter!

  ‘Yes, Goddess… ’

  Blood on my lips and trickling down my chin, I press myself up and feel another whack. Another whack, another whack – I ignore the cowardly attack. I see myself grow in size as I turn to my aggressor. Holeborn fury within, fueled by adrenaline, I swipe my giant shiv at his blurred face. He screams, bends over as his fingers fill with blood. I down stab into his upper back, smile at the sound.

  ‘Shit.’

  I turn to see Greene standing next to me, breathing heavily, smudged with mud and blood.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re a real killer,’ she says.

  ‘So are you.’

  There are no more OL Officers left to flagellate innocent Southerners. As the dust clears, those from the crowd surge towards the fallen guards, taking weapons and motocarts. I step forward and people stop, clear the way for Greene and me. One man offers the metalzip thrower he’s picked up and I take it.

  ‘What is it?’ he asks, wide-eyed.

  ‘Don’t know.’

  I examine the object, trace my fingers along its body. How to make it go? Hand fits grip, wide end fits shoulder, finger finds lever. Lever moves, metalzip flies out the narrow end, hits the dust and ricochets. A few people in the gathered crowd make theirs go as well.

  (Yes! Yes!)

  ‘Give me one.’ Greene approaches a man awkwardly fumbling with a metalzip thrower. She snatches it from him and when he protests, she growls and bares her teeth. Pathetic mouse, he slinks into the crowd.

  ‘Let’s go, Hunter,’ she says as she gets into the back of one of the OL’s motocarts. ‘Give me your… um… thrower.’

  (Do you trust her?)

  ‘I do,’ I say as I hand her the weapon.

  Good, Hunter, she’ll help you make it to the North.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ I tell Greene and anyone else who’s listening.

  ‘Where are you going?’ someone in the crowd calls after me.

  ‘To the Off Limits.’

  .5.

  My tongue wags as I vroom vroom towards possible doom. Life of the Stayed has become life of the frayed all around – smoke, dead bodies, fighting fools, kicked in doors; puddles of blood mud, abandoned children, mobs of beasts, looting fiends.

  (It is beautiful.)

  ‘You are stupid,’ I tell the voice that exists within and without me.

  (The war has come, the war that many have foretold for some time. Chaos is an anesthesia, anathema, vile ambrosia, a uniting factor in the course of mankind.)

  ‘Halo will unite us all,’ I tell the voice through clenched teeth. The useless voices that come to me are ghosts in my skull, wind whistling between my ears, torture that only I can hear. For the near, for the Stayed, for the Devout I shout – RELEASE ME! Only one voice matters – Halo’s.

  (Increase speed.)

  ‘We’re going fast!’ Greene yells. She makes
her flinger fling, laughs.

  I cast her a smile over my shoulder and it will do. It’s nice to meet a female who isn’t faceless, who doesn’t judge, who can take a life as easily as one would take a leak. Not quite my match but worth her weight in shiv metal. The Book says that men and women die better together.

  Slow down!

  ‘Anything, Goddess,’ I murmur as I chill my progress. The Great Demarcator, the Off Limits – the wall that separates sin from poor men, keeps us at odds – looms ahead. The crowd instantly coalesces around us as I dust burn stop.

  ‘Shit… ’ Greene steps off the motocart, points her weapon at the crowd.

  ‘Don’t,’ I say, and I spy with my little eye a flock of Forehead Drillers praying towards the South. Fresh blood trickles down, eye crevice drown. The gross encumbrance that we share reminds me of the reason we’re here.

  Find a place to hide for a while.

  ‘Goddess?’ I whisper, as I size up the situation. Screams and smoke and the clash of weapons and the relentless, advancing OL Officers, shielded by their portable metal panels, clubbing down all who approach their line; a normal man would soil himself and flee.

  (Go forth and hunt the faceless. Take their names – chew them up and spit them out.)

  No, find shelter for now. Ignore that voice, Hunter.

  --You’ve failed me.

  ‘Father Miscavige?’

  Ignore that voice too, Hunter!

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Greene steps off the back of the motocart, warily approaches me.

  (SNAP OUT OF IT!)

  ‘Nothing, nothing, nothing,’ I say as I wipe my face with my forearm. ‘We need to… find shelter for a bit. Then we go across.’

  Her face brightens, mood lightens. Amidst the anarchy she shines Halo-bright.

  (Blasph!)

  It’s okay, Hunter, she’s here to help you.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask Greene.

  ‘I know… I know a place.’ She grabs my free hand which leaves me trembling. In the other I hold the large shiv, ready to cleave again if need be.

  (SHE’S TOUCHING YOU!)

  ‘Quiet you!’ I whisper-hiss.

  Once I’m off the motocart, I left foot right foot follow follow leap. We bounce like stones down a hill as we navigate the frenzied drain terrain. Screaming women and children, men dying and gasping as they finger their wounds, puddles of fluid and piles of refuse, the air thicker than clay – we find peace in the tumult, silence in the uproar, calm in the deathscape disarray.

  ‘There!’

  A man staggers towards us, faceless, and I stop.

  I bare my shiv and advance towards the lost soul. He engages with a long piece of prefab and I pivot, dodge his swipe and come on him like ants on a bowl of sweetened mush. I’m blood gush, the perforator, stab stab stab man, the one to be reckoned with as I devour his shrieks, inhale his essence, give him the shivving of a lifetime.

  I stand over his fallen body, out of breath, but recovering swift. One gulp later and I realize I’m hungry. Looking down at the man dead-dying makes my mouth water.

  (Consume.)

  Do not eat him, Hunter.

  ‘Goddess?’

  Not now; you will frighten and alienate Greene.

  Her voice the light at the end of a long tunnel, I nod my head, turn to Greene.

  (CONSUME!)

  ‘No,’ I whisper to the voice that torments endlessly. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you… a… a warrior?’ Greene asks as I approach her. A glint across her eyes tells me that she isn’t frightened by my visage; rather, she’s impressed, fascinated with my handling of the faceless man. It can’t be – how could anyone like an animal like me – except another animal… like me?

  ‘I am not a warrior,’ I tell her.

  ‘You kill as if you are.’

  ‘Today is not my first day.’

  ‘You kill like… like an animal.’

  I crack a grin. ‘That’s not the first time I’ve been told that.’

  She regains her composure. ‘This way,’ she says, and slips into an alley.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I know of an unused cellar not far from here. We’ll be safe there.’

  A man turns a corner and Greene metalzips him smack-dab in the middle of his chest. He’s out of breath for seconds flat and once I’ve confirmed his facelessness, I bury my shiv yet again until he’s done and done.

  Greene laughs, ‘You’ll kill anyone.’

  ‘Only if they are faceless,’ I tell her.

  .6.

  Abandoned depot, home sweet home. Roam alone or in packs until safety fits like a sack.

  Away from the female, I relax on the other side of a filth-ripe cellar, my knees to my chest. Blood crusted skin; I wrinkle my nose and feel the dried life-force crack. The cellar is half-subfusc, the dwellers squared, down for the day we await the signal of night. Down for the day man rests his head only to blink awake and begin again.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She’s loud-moving, tossing aside prefab crates and scrambling about.

  ‘R boxes… ’ she says with a huff. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘I know the feeling.’

  ‘There has to be something down here.’ Greene continues her search until she stumbles upon something edible. Negligible amounts, to be sure, but I hear her gums smacking in a matter of moments, masticating the almost-filth they serve us under the clever guise of crude food.

  (Flesh.)

  ‘I know what you prefer,’ I whisper to the voice that needs to cease. ‘Shut it.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Greene asks, moving over to me.

  ‘No… yes… um... ’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  Her eyes glow. ‘You are the strangest person I have ever met.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You kill like a warrior’s warrior yet… ’

  ‘Yet?’

  ‘You kind of remind me of a child,’ she says. ‘It’s not a bad thing. The look on your face sometimes; it’s like a child’s when they are angry, happy or sad. There’s no guile in you.’

  (What is she saying? Is it blasph? Listen closely, fool!)

  ‘Quiet, you.’

  Relax, Hunter.

  ‘And who are you always talking to?’

  ‘Thinking aloud.’ I turn my back to her, ashamed at my bizarreness. I’ve never been one to mingle with the general public; too many faceless fucks, petty thieves, lusty flesh givers and deathborn ditherers.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I feel her hand graze against my arm and I recoil. ‘You’re bleeding, didn’t you know that?’

  ‘I am?’ I glance down at my arm. The glistening wound doesn’t hurt but it doesn’t look great either. More alarming – Greene’s proximity to me. The tingling sensation is cause for both fear and elation. I shift-move away, bare my teeth in a pathetic grin, return my knees to my chest again.

  She says, ‘I’ll fix your wound up, don’t worry.’

  (Outside there and inside here, life’s a dare fueled by fear.)

  ‘I’m not worried.’

  (YOU ARE WORRIED.)

  --Return home, Hunter!

  ‘Dammit, you.’

  I hear her scramble in her pocket. The snap of a locket punctures the silence stitching us close. The sweetsick scent of delixer tickles my nose.

  ‘What is that?’ I ask. ‘I don’t drink.’

  (Check her face!)

  ‘It’s medicine. I learned how to make it from my grandmother,’ she explains. ‘It’s mush and ground up Northern cactus soaked in delixer from full moon to full moon. Just… ’ Greene takes my arm. ‘Let me rub some in there. Trust me – it won’t hurt. It’ll heal you up.’

  Her fingers go to work over the ridges of my fresh cut. The sting forces me to bite my bottom lip until I taste blood. The cold medicine burns like fire; I’m about to whip my arm away when she finishes.

  ‘Liar,’ I say.

 
‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘It did hurt.’

  ‘It’ll heal faster.’

  (Ask her a question.)

  ‘I should ask you a question,’ I say.

  She snorts. ‘Well, ask me then?’

  (Ask her a question.)

  ‘I’m trying!’ I hiss.

  ‘Trying what?’ Greene asks.

  ‘Tell me about yourself, your family.’

  (That’s not a question!)

  ‘My name is Greene Suntail and I’m sixteen years old, seventeen after Stayed Day. My mother used to make finger grazers and I helped her for a while. My father was a laborer. I have a brother named Clay, but I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s crazy anyway. What about you?’

  ‘I am… the Champion of the South.’

  She laughs. ‘What does that even mean? Who did you beat?’

  ‘I didn’t beat anyone. I am a defender of the Book, the Devout of the Devout, Halo’s servant.’

  ‘You sure have a lot of titles, Hunter,’ she says. ‘Is your arm still stinging?’

  I look down at it, as if a glance can amplify or quell the pain. ‘It’s the same.’

  ‘Same?’

  ‘As before you put on the medication.’

  ‘So it’s better?’ she asks.

  ‘I suppose. Yes, it’s better.’

  ‘Good… ’

  (Ask her something else.)

  ‘I’m trying.’

  (You are much better at speaking to corpses in the Hole than live people.)

  ‘I’m trying!’

  ‘What are you trying?’ she asks, relaxing next to me. Her back against the wall, I give her a quick glance to make sure her features are still visible. All intact, I relax, still wary of our proximity.

  ‘I’m trying to ask you a question.’

  ‘Then ask,’ she says. ‘Ask me anything.’

  ‘Do you… pray every day?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘We should say the Dusk Prayer soon.’

  She rests her hands on her waist, shoots her legs straight out. ‘It’s too late for dusk.’

  I clear my throat and begin: ‘Let dusk settle and the Canyon rest, give thanks to the Goddess, the Stayed, the Devout and all the rest. Protect me in my moment of slumber; hold me to your breast. Grant me the faculty to become one of the blessed. Lead all those who stray away from deathborn. Heal the earth beneath the feet of the scorned. Mourn the passing of those faithful few, who have given their lives in devotion to you.’

 

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