Anarchy

by Rhett Gervais

  Understanding dawned on him like the morning sun. Knowing what he needed to do, he dug his fingers behind the man’s ear, his nails slipping between the crystal and skin by a hair's width. The currents coursing through him intensified with each passing moment like a growing fire shooting through his veins. Beneath him, the man trembled and shook, no longer fighting back, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. Negry pulled, squeezing his eyes shut tight and holding his breath, a terrible screech escaping his throat.

  The glowing shard came away with a horrible wet sucking sound of flesh tearing and bones cracking, and trailing after the tiny crystal came hundreds of thin filaments like fishing wire, longer than his arm, writhing as if alive. A wave of nausea washed over him, the ration bar he had been eating threatening to come back up. Negry was about to throw the vile thing away when without warning the filaments plunged into his forearm, digging into his skin like leeches hungry for blood, burrowing into bone and sinew, encircling his bones, the crystal itself attaching to the top of his hand. He felt like his bones were being ground to dust, every nerve firing in pain, his head feeling like it was in a vice, his vision fading in and out.

  When his senses returned, he found himself facedown in the dirt, drenched in sweat despite the cold, the entire camp surrounding him in his tiny corner. With a start, he sat up, staring at his hand, still surprised to find another crystal there, its pulse matching the one on his neck, his forearm having taken on a dull sheen. His hand shot to his side, looking for the shank that had been buried there, only to find the skin smooth and unbroken like nothing had happened, the only trace of the injury being the dampness on his coveralls. He continued to stare at his hand, his eyes wide with wonder, amazed by how good he felt, how strong.

  He had to talk with Anton. He had to understand what was happening to him—and what he would become.

  Chapter 6: Departures

  May 2076

  “Well, you certainly made an impression, and not a good one!” said Cardinal Washington just as she had stepped off the stage into the overfull corridor. The dark-skinned man had been waiting for her, his telling glare full of disappointment. “You were supposed to be America’s sweetheart, a pretty blonde to make these idiots remember better days, not some junkie from Eight Mile riling them up.”

  Gwen tilted her head and gave him a scornful look. “I wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t call me a fucking whore in front of the whole world,” she said, trying to suppress a cough. Her throat was raw again, another symptom of the sarin gas that had almost killed her. The stocky cardinal watched with cold detachment as she fought to find her voice, swallowing hard. She managed a croaked whisper once she’d found it. “I told you I was the wrong chick for this. That old bag was right.”

  “You’re a poor excuse for a soldier, girl. Arthur nearly broke you despite you being superior to him in every way. But at the moment, you’re the strongest weapon I have, so you’ll have to do.”

  Gwen felt like she had just been slapped, her face turning red with rage. “I’m just a whore, remember,” she whispered, letting out a breath to stop herself from removing the cardinal’s head.

  With a snort, he produced a small, red vial from his robes, holding it up in front of her like some prize trophy. “Take this. I need you functional, and it will help with the pain,” he said with a bland expression.

  “I don’t… No, Uriel can take care of me,” she said, shrinking from the vial just as Uriel’s golden touch soothed her cough. Did he know about the vials she had taken, stashed in an abandoned office, or was he simply trying to keep his weapon functional? Ready for the fight.

  “His touch doesn’t seem to be doing the job. You don’t seem to be getting better,” he said, looking at Uriel, who stood behind her.

  She stared at the vial in his hand like it was a viper, feeling suddenly like they were the only people in the world despite the corridor being full of people rushing back and forth. Behind her she could feel Uriel’s hand on her shoulder, his quiet voice urging, “C’mon, Gwen, let’s get going. We put on this little dog and pony show for them. We’re done here.”

  With a growl, she snatched the small, red vial from his hand, giving him a narrow sidelong glance as she moved to walk past him.

  “I didn’t say you could go, girl. If I had the time I would teach you respect; clearly, you are in need of an education,” he said, moving closer to her, invading her space. The cardinal placed a restraining hand on her shoulder as he glared down at her. “What was that up there? Are you in charge? You think you can just choose your missions? We need you two on the front, not chasing after the boy.”

  Gwen had no clue how she was going to carry out her threat of finding Arthur. She had let her temper get the best of her, but she knew it was the path she had to take. “I have no fucking idea where he is, but he needs to be found, and I’m gonna find him and make him pay.”

  “Despite being mostly dull witted, in this instance you are right” he said with a sneer, “and thankfully God's wisdom is infallible. We have an idea where that boy is, and you—”

  “You don’t have to talk to her that way, Your Eminence,” said Uriel, stepping forward. “Just give us the details, and we’ll do what we have to. We know our duty, sir.”

  The cardinal’s forehead creased in anger as he glared at Uriel’s metallic face. “Quiet, boy. I have had enough of this sycophantic behavior from your bloated father.”

  Gwen looked back to see Uriel look away, unable to meet Cardinal Washington’s harsh glare. With a self-satisfied nod, he returned his attention to her, his tone blunt as he began, “My assistant, Rodrigo, will accompany you. HE has ways of tracking Arthur, and once you find him, the three of you are going to put him down. You have two days to find your friend. After that, I need you fighting. You will follow Rodrigo’s orders to the letter. Are we clear? Ah, here is now,” he said, looking over her head down the hall.

  She turned to see a tall, olive-skinned acolyte with a high forehead dressed in red-and-black robes striding toward them. He had slick jet-black hair, and as he came closer he gave Gwen a brilliant-white smile as he took her hands in his, gently kissing them. “Ciao, you are more beautiful than the good cardinal told me,” he said in a thick Italian accent, his words sounding almost musical to her ears. Gwen could feel a smile creep onto her face as she became lost in his smoky-brown eyes, her heart beginning to race. She was just about to introduce herself when Uriel shoved her aside, standing protectively in front of her.

  “You stay the hell away from her or I swear to Jesus you’re going to be sitting down to pee,” said Uriel in a harsh whisper, his eyes drilling into the acolyte.

  “Che palle!” he swore, taking a step back, a flustered look dancing across his face. “What’s this?”

  “What the fuck, Uriel!” she said, not sure what was going on. She watched the two men stand off against one another, scrunching up her face in confusion. She had never seen Uriel angry or upset. He was a good-natured person who always tried to get along with everyone. Before it could go any further, Cardinal Washington stepped between them.

  “Enough of this. Get prepared to depart, find Arthur, leave whatever personal conflicts you people have for another time,” he said in a tone that brooked no arguments.

  Uriel gently took her hand, his eyes pleading as he turned back to the cardinal and the acolyte. “Yes, Your Eminence,” he said with a tight smile, his tone almost pleasant. “I’m so sorry for my outburst. We just need a minute. Rodrigo, why don’t you go on ahead, and we’ll catch up?”

  The olive-skinned acolyte returned a plastic smile, his grin almost feral. “I will send you my location on your smart device. Meet me at your leisure,” he said with a shrug, walking away, his red-and-black robes trailing behind him as he vanished into the crowd. Before the cardinal could say more, Uriel dragged her in the opposite direction, his metallic face creased with worry as he kept glancing over his shoulder.

  “Ok, enough. That’s far enough. Can
you tell me what the hell is going on?” she asked, standing firm. She almost laughed at his strain as he tried again to pull her along only to find her immovable.

  With a grunt, he let go of her hand, turning to look at her directly. He moved to the side of the corridor, trying to avoid bumping into the mass of people going about their business. “That acolyte, that's the one that I told you about,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to see every way at once.

  “What! You said Arthur and you killed him, shoved a knife in his throat. What, are you high or something?”

  “No, of course not,” he said, shaking his head, “but that’s him, I’m sure of it.”

  Gwen arched an eyebrow, her eyes going wide trying to understand what was going on. “Are you sure he was dead? I mean, that little shit tried to kill me and couldn’t get the job done. Maybe he screwed up here too.”

  “Yes, I was sure,” he said, raising his voice.

  Gwen cocked her head and gave Uriel a half smile. “So, you’re telling me we gotta follow orders from a dead man who is gonna be taking us to God knows where to arrest an asshole who tried to kill me and succeeded in killing him. What could go wrong!”

  ***

  They arrived to find Rodrigo rapidly pacing in front of the hangar doors, his face a mask of irritation. “Figlio di troia,” he said, his tone sharp. “You said uno momento.”

  “You said at your leisure,” Gwen shot back, not caring for his tone. “Besides, I had to change. You can’t expect a girl to travel without looking her best.”

  Seeing his face reddening, Gwen gave him her sweetest smile, causing the acolyte to blow out his cheeks, clearly not impressed. Swearing under his breath, he led the way into the hangar, motioning for them to follow. Thankfully, she had managed to find a set of black combat fatigues with pants that didn’t ride up her crotch, topped off by knee-high boots that the White Rabbit and the rest of the clergy would not have approved of. The suit was standard issue for Divinity Corps, made of the same material as her new dress uniforms, meaning it could take a beating before she ended up fighting naked again.

  With a sigh, Gwen made her way through the double doors of the hanger, Uriel in tow. The hangar looked long abandoned, with years of grime and dried grease scattered across granite floors entirely devoid of aircraft, the launch bay doors having long ago rusted shut. The wide-open bay looked more like a cave carved out of the bedrock than a high-security facility. The only area that was clean was a small section in the far corner, which looked more like a basement home cinema than a mountain hideout. “You know, the more time I spend in this place, the more I feel like some cartoon villain,” said Gwen, looking back at Uriel’s worried face.

  Rodrigo quickly made his way over to it, again motioning for them to follow. As she got closer, Gwen could make out that the area was a small holo-theater. This one was smaller than the ones she had seen at the holo-plex; the tracks lining the floors and ceiling would provide a photonic barrier for the main projections no bigger than a large living room. Once inside, the experience would be completely immersive, allowing the people inside to feel like they were inside a film or show. They watched in silence as the olive-skinned acolyte placed his smart device against a panel on the projector, transferring his preset renderings to the machine.

  Uriel scanned the area, frowning. “Exactly what are we doing here? I thought the cardinal ordered us to find Arthur. How are we going to do that in this junkyard?” he said, shaking his head.

  Rodrigo waved him off, continuing to mumble to himself as he continued to program the generator. Behind her, Gwen heard Uriel’s sharp intake of breath. Turning back, she placed a restraining hand on Uriel’s arm, doing her best to calm him. “What is it with this guy?” he said, not taking his eyes off the acolyte.

  Just as she was about to say something, the machine gave an approving chime, indicating that it was ready. “Ahh, eccellente.”

  Gwen tensed as a low-pitched hum reverberated from the machine as it surged to life, the long-abandoned hangar bay vanishing and suddenly replaced by the illusion of a concrete walkway at the foot of a large lake, surrounded by lush green trees, and skyscrapers dominating the skyline in the distance.

  She turned on her heel, impressed with the quality. The holo-vids she had seen with her mother back in Detroit were low quality, almost transparent sometimes, the projectors having served for years longer than originally intended. “Well, it looks nice, but we’re no farther along. Anyone up for a swim?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood as Uriel continued to stare daggers at the other man.

  The tall Italian gave her his plastic grin once again before continuing. “Your friend Arthur is here, in this place,” he said, gesturing at the projection surrounding them.

  “Yeah, but where is ‘here?’” said Gwen, trying to make out details in the distance. Her mother had been more interested in partying than traveling, so she hadn’t seen much of the country.

  “It looks like New York,” said Uriel in a low voice, “at least before the war. But we're not really here, and it would be crazy to attempt to get close. Russian drones control the airspace all along the Eastern Seaboard. So why don’t we stop wasting our time and find a way we can actually be helpful?”

  “This I know,” said Rodrigo, his plastic grin growing wider, “but this illusion is not simply a way to find the apostate. It is a tool for me to take us to him,” he said, stretching his arms wide.

  Gwen’s jaw dropped as the acolyte’s form began to ripple like when a stone has bounced off the water’s surface, his features vanishing, only to resemble water in the moonlight.

  The acolyte raised his hands, motioning for them to come closer. “Please, take my hands and we will be in this place,” he said, his voice sounding like he was at the bottom of a well.

  “No way,” said Uriel, taking a step back, shaking his head.

  “Don’t be a pussy. Let's see where the horizon takes us,” she said, her eyes sparkling with wonder as she took Rodrigo’s hand. She caught her breath, unable to breathe, every inch of her feeling like she had just plunged into ice-cold water. She marveled as her entire body began to darken and shimmer like a pool of water reflecting starlight. With a sudden surge, she reached out, grabbing a startled Uriel just as he tried to move away, pulling him closer. Gwen felt small tremors of fear as the cold became more intense, sharp pain and numbness causing the tips of her fingers to tingle like she was frostbitten, and then nothing, only the acolyte’s laughter mocking her in the dark.

  Chapter 7: The City That Never Sleeps

  May 2076

  The grime-covered subway tile was like a horrid mosaic of filth she couldn’t scrub away no matter how much she tried. It decorated the floor, the walls, and worst of all the ceiling of what was officially her bedroom. She imagined that once upon a time it had been a shop of some sort, just off the subway platform. She had called dibs in the early days, and her father had agreed to it only under the condition she keep it spotless, just as she would have her room back in Colorado.

  Whenever she had complained that it was impossible to clean, he reminded her that most of the people who lived here would kill for a private room. Most of the new recruits had simple cots out in the open on one of the multiple subway platforms, some even braving deeper into the tunnels with the rats in search of privacy.

  She had long ago abandoned the idea of sleep. Her mind was racing in circles, trying to figure out a plan of attack against Mary Beth and her cohorts. Punching her mattress, she rolled out of bed with a sigh, hoping that a walk would clear her head. She was just about to go out when she heard whispers just outside her door. Rowen felt the room drop away, thinking that they were coming for her again, the memory rushing in. She could feel herself being pressed face-first against the floor, the tip of the needle in her back. Taking a deep breath, Rowen pulled her SIG from its holster on her hip, the weight of the weapon in her hands calming her. She quietly did a weapon check, listening to voices argue just
outside her door. No one in their right mind would invade her space, and without a key, they would be out of luck anyway, but she wouldn’t put it past Ariel or even that creep Augusta to break down the door.

  She silently flipped up her cot, ducking behind it for cover. Rowen leveled her gun toward the door, her breathing coming hard and fast, waiting…and waiting. “Who are these idiots,” she mumbled to herself. Running out of patience, she stomped to the door, throwing it open, her SIG leveled. She could only make out silhouettes due to the station floodlight shining behind them, casting them in shadow like a negative, but she would know Gibbs’ nervous energy anywhere. Seeing her gun, he squeaked like a mouse, jumping protectively in front of Mary Beth, his hands out defensively in front of him.

  “You know she can catch bullets, right,” said Rowen, raising an eyebrow, wondering what the hell he was thinking standing in front of her. “And that you're a crappy shield?”

  Rowen could see the color drain from his face at the realization. He swallowed loudly, putting up his arms. “Please don’t shoot. I’m here to help!” he said, speaking quickly in a high voice.

  Rowen shook her head in disbelief, shoving her SIG back into the holster on her hip. “What the hell are you doing? I could have shot you… Actually, I should shoot you for carrying on with that piece of trash behind you.”

  Rowen tried to give him an angry look, but the truth of the matter was she was happy to see him, happy that he was ok, even if he was with her. Turning on the light, she returned to her cot, flipping it over and giving them a questioning look.

  She was taken aback for a moment, backpedaling when he walked up to her and took her by the shoulders, giving her a hug. “What, do I have something on my face?” she asked, her hand darting to the scar that ran from the top of her forehead to her chin.