Anarchy

by Rhett Gervais

  Rowen had never understood what a Mexican standoff was before today, and now, having experienced one firsthand, she decided that it was bad—very bad. She stood facing Ariel and Augusta, both men dressed only in their underpants. Mary Beth, Gibbs, Blake, and her father stood beside her, weapons drawn. Ariel had come awake first, when they entered, leaping to his feet, plates of jagged ice flowing like water across his skin. Rowen was startled by the cracking and twisting echoes of ice as needle-thin blades grew from his palms. Augusta, no longer looking affable, shot out from the bed beside him a moment later, his face a twisted mask of rage, his eyes boring into Mary Beth. They had decided to not include anyone else besides Blake in this little adventure, her father having rightly thought that arresting their most powerful assets in front of anyone else from the unit would be bad for morale.

  The two men, along with Mary Beth, had taken refuge in a remote east side tunnel the day they had arrived. Ariel, upon seeing the sleeping accommodations offered, bluntly stated that he had no intention of sleeping among the "squatters" of Grand Central. Their rooms were far off from the main complex. Her father had told her they were once part of the tunnel going from Manhattan to Long Island, constructed decades after the original subway lines. Their construction was advanced for the time and managed to keep the water out even during the floods of the last decade.

  Augusta’s great strength had allowed them to construct a bunker-style barracks with large plates of concrete sealing the area off from prying eyes. The entire area reminded Rowen of the officers’ quarters back home in Colorado, all dark greens with smatterings of beige. The place was well lit, warm and dry, open-concept family living with every possible luxury, despite being underground in an abandoned subway tunnel. Without Mary Beth showing them the way, it would have been impossible to find the place, but she had managed to sneak them in, resulting in the brothers being jolted awake and guns being drawn, tempers flaring, violence hanging in the air.

  “Y'all got about a minute to get the fuck out of my face before I take your heads and put ’em on spikes,” said Ariel, breaking the silence, his eyes boring into his sister. “An’ you, big sis, you choosin’ these strangers over us, your blood! Even if these pieces o’ shit fuck off right now, you got a lot to answer for,” said Ariel, his rough voice more guttural than usual.

  Before she could answer, Rowen’s father stepped forward. “That’s enough!” he shouted, his eyes narrowing. “You know why we're here. Your sister told us everything. Under normal circumstances, you would be arrested for assaulting a fellow soldier. There would be a tribunal and court martial—”

  Ariel gave her father a bitter look, pointing one of his blades at Rowen. “Red ain’t no soldier, she’s just some little brat who got beat by the ugly stick one too many times,” he said with a sneer.

  Rowen raised her new gun a little higher, baring her teeth, wanting nothing more than to punish Ariel for the pain he caused. But her father had insisted that the weapon was a tool of last resort. She understood that he wanted to end this peacefully. She just didn’t have to like it.

  “Are you listening to yourself, man?” said her father, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to diffuse the situation. “You’re a soldier. It's your job to stand up for those who can’t. You’re supposed to be the example, not the monster.”

  “Well, fuck you and fuck that,” said Ariel, anger flashing in his eyes. “My country abandoned me, ordered me here to die without even a goddamn thank you for your service. You know what I’m talking about, Macdonald. You’ve been in the trenches long enough. You and me, we stand up for people who don’t give a shit about us, fat cows who live a life of privilege built on our backs, on our sacrifice. So tell me, why shouldn’t I get mine and fuck everybody else and their hollow platitudes?”

  Her father looked like he had been slapped, his face flushing red under his brown skin. “I don’t know what to tell you, son. That’s the sacrifice you and I chose to make,” he began forcefully. “Being a hero sometimes requires that your sacrifice goes unnoticed. You’re right, they’ll never know what we do. But for me, I do it for my family, for all families. I lay my head down every night knowing I’ve made the world a little safer for them and everyone else,” said her father, lowering his weapon. “C’mon, son, do the right thing here, like your sister did. We—”

  At the mention of his sister, Ariel’s face twisted, a primal scream exploding from his throat. Faster than anyone could move, he charged, the frozen blades in his hands viciously aiming for Mary Beth’s head.

  Mary Beth was quicker, deftly sidestepping left and then right from the flashing weapons, dancing back from Ariel’s brutal thrusts and cleaving swings. Without missing a beat, Augusta followed his brother’s lead, charging into the fray, his long limbs sweeping high, his wild swinging blows connecting with her father, Gibbs, and Blake in one blow, knocking them across the room. Rowen, being small, ducked below the flailing giant, avoiding the brunt of his attack before quickly darting fearfully after her father, who had impacted hard against the far wall. Halfway to her father, she felt more than saw something coming, intuitively throwing herself to the floor and swallowing hard as she watched a heavy wooden table sail over her head, splintering like a firework against the bunker’s makeshift concrete wall. She turned back to see Augusta’s meaty fists balled into hammers, his long strides closing the distance faster than she thought possible.

  Scrambling to her feet, she tried to raise her gun to fire, only to be forced back on her heels to avoid Augusta’s fist barreling toward her head. Adrenaline spiked in her veins, and Rowen darted to her left in terror, Augusta’s desperate swings keeping her off balance. Gawking at the raging juggernaut, she scrambled around on her hands and knees, desperate to get away from his murderous attacks, knowing even a glancing blow from the giant would be the end of her.

  Running out of room, Rowen did the only thing she could think of. Turning to face the big man, she attempted to dive through his legs, only to find herself caught by the ankle in Augusta’s iron grip like an animal in a steel trap. He dragged her kicking and screaming to his eye level, giving her a sour look.

  “Fool me once, shame on me, Red. I ain’t fallin’ for the same trick twice, and I still owe you for the last shot to my nuts,” said the big man, triumphantly giving her a hard shake. “Ariel and me, we’ve had enough o’ this shit. We're gonna take over from here. Not so sure why we didn’t from the start. It's not like you jokers would have been able to stop us anyhow.”

  “I don’t think so, shithead,” said Rowen, hanging upside down. Remembering the weapon in her hand and what it might be able to do, she fought through the pain radiating from her ankle, aiming for Augusta’s thick chest even while he shook her.

  “You think that peashooter can hurt me; you got a lot to—”

  She pulled the trigger as fast as she could, releasing a fury of deafening rounds into the small space. A moment later, Augusta dropped her, falling to his knees, his screams so loud they shook the room, blood gushing over a meaty paw that held his wounded thigh. Rolling with the fall, Rowen shot to her feet, limping away from the bloodied giant. She looked back in time to see Ariel’s crystal blade piercing his sister’s shoulder, pinning her to the wall, his other blade aimed high, ready to pierce her heart.

  Rowen took a breath, trying to drive away the fear clutching at her heart, focusing just as Mary Beth had taught her. In her mind’s eye, everything slowed. She saw the whole space, absorbed every detail. Augusta at her side lurching to his feet, his massive fist hurtling toward her, aiming for her skull. Mary Beth’s eyes wide with panic, the Beretta in her hand spitting out shot after shot ineffectually against her brother’s armored chest, the glinting blade in his hand raised high. Rowen released a single breath and fired, squeezing the trigger three times. The first shot shattered the frozen blade in Ariel’s hand, splintering it like broken glass, and the second took him in the shoulder, the force of the bullet spinning him around, his blood spray
ing in a thick mist against the gray wall, his eyes wide with shock. Mary Beth, no longer pinned by the crystal blade, was staring at her with an odd smile. Rowen pivoted, firing blindly, her bullet slamming into Augusta’s center mass with a wet thud, halting the giant mid charge as though he had struck an invisible wall. He stood there dumbly for a moment, blinking at her, a hollow rattle coming from his lungs as they filled with blood, clutching at the hole in his chest before falling back with a heavy crash on the cold floor, dead.

  “Hands up, or the next one takes your head,” she said to Ariel, breathing quick, adrenaline burning through her. She cocked her head, her vision tunneling in on the compact man who stood stunned at the turn of events, the small red dot from her laser sight appearing on his forehead, making him flinch. Rowen knew her father had ordered that they simply arrest them, but in this moment, she didn’t care. She knew that given the chance Ariel and Augusta would have killed them all without a second thought.

  “What are you gonna do, Red, kill me? You’d have done that already if you had it in you,” he said as he vaguely raised his hands, his tone sarcastic. “I know your type. My sister over there used to be the same way till we slapped some sense into her, wantin’ to do the right thing, playin’ hero for Daddy. You ain’t shootin’ nobody in cold blood. People like you, you’re cowards, not havin’ the balls to do what needs to be done.”

  They stood facing each other, eyes locked, a cruel grin on Ariel’s face. Rowen hesitated, sweat rolling down her temples, facing a choice she didn’t want to make. Killing in the middle of a fight was one thing. There was no thought, just action. But now, watching the tiny red dot from her SIG dance on his forehead…

  “See, Red, you got no guts. You and all these other pricks are all gonna die here today, I’mma gonna see to that, gonna make it real painful too,” he said, slowly putting his arms down. An icy, blue fog appeared around his hands, and the sound of cracking ice filled the air as a new pair of blades materialized clear and sharp.

  “Don’t,” said Rowen, shaking her head and tightening the grip on her gun.

  “Why not, Red? Didn’t my sis over here tell ya, I’m a dead man walkin’,” he said, taking a sharp breath. “I’m gonna die in a few months anyhow, why not do the finale right now, whaddya say!” he said, pointing at her with one of his new blades.

  “Why would I give you an easy out, after what you did to me?”

  “That’s how we made our sister over here into the killer she is, forced her to take the shot,” he said, nodding to his sister with his chin. “Truth is, I wanna go out fightin’, not like some old fuck in my bed, so I’m gonna make you kill me, Red.”

  “Are you freaking crazy?” said Rowen as her heart thundered in her chest, her back slick with sweat. “Stop this. Stop it right now. We can all walk away from this. You can die fighting the Russians or something.”

  “Nah, this is better; this way you’ll never forget me,” he said, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Rowen was so focused that she never saw his play, the compact man spinning like a dervish, blades going high and low, the icy swords easily slicing through a stunned Mary Beth, jets of blood turning the blades crimson and trickling to the floor.

  Rowen saw his head explode before realizing she had pulled the trigger, her screams raw in her throat, cursing at what she had just done. The focus of her anger and hatred, the man who had made her life a living hell the last few days, lay broken and bleeding on the floor, a halo of blood surrounding what was left of his head.

  Rowen stood alone, shoulders slumped, as Mary Beth gave her a final wink, her lips curving into a small smile before the light faded from her eyes. Her stomach began to churn, the taste of bile curling in the back of her throat, saliva pooling in her mouth. She fell to her hands and knees, emptying her belly over and over, heaving until nothing, not even bile, came out. Her stomach empty, she leaned back on her haunches and wiped her mouth with a trembling hand, tears flowing freely down her face for the first time she could remember.

  Then Gibbs was there, his arms around her pulling her close. He smelled vaguely of copper wire and plastic, like his lab. Most days, she found it repulsive, but today it was strange, almost comforting. For once in his life, he said nothing. He simply sat with her, letting her have the moment. How long they just sat there she had no idea, but when it was over, she gently pushed him away, struggling to her feet on shaky legs, wincing from the sharp pain in her ankle. With a snort, she straightened her clothes, her empty stomach churning, fear rushing back to her gut as she saw her father still slumped where he had fallen, Blake at his side with a worried frown on his handsome face.

  “Dad,” she said, limping over to him, wiping the tears from her face. Crouching beside him, she found him dazed, confusion in his dark eyes.

  “He keeps fading in and out,” said Blake, checking his vitals.

  “Can we move him?” she asked in a low voice, not sure she could take much more today.

  Blake looked around, his sharp eyes taking a fast inventory of the room before nodding. “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem. Give me a minute,” he said, standing. “Keep him talking. I’m pretty sure he has a concussion, maybe worse…”

  Both she and Gibbs talked to him about nothing, each in turn doing their best to keep him lucid while Blake constructed a makeshift litter from what was left of the beds. There were moments when he seemed almost normal, focusing on them, and other times he was somewhere else, having nonsensical conversations.

  “I hate this place,” she said to Gibbs, her voice hoarse. “This city has taken my family…I wish…I just want to go home, have things like they used to be.”

  Her father’s eyes suddenly shot open, a surprised look running across his face. “Hey, don’t count me out yet,” he said slowly, struggling to sit up. “I’ve been through worse. It takes more than one little knock on the head to keep me down.”

  Rowen’s eyes became bright as she blew out her cheeks, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off her. “Dad, can you stand?” she said, helping him to his feet. He put a shaking hand against the wall to steady himself.

  “Well, that didn’t go well,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed the room. Looking around at the mayhem, she could only nod, not sure what to say. “We need to clean this up. We can’t leave it all like this.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Josh, why don’t you and Rowen head to the first-aid station, see if we can patch you up,” said Gibbs.

  Blake returned a moment later, makeshift stretcher at the ready, his eyes questioning if they would need it. “I’ll be fine,” said her father, shaking his head. “If you two don’t mind giving me some help walking?”

  Her father put one arm over her shoulder and the other over Blake’s and they began to head out. They were just at the door when Gibbs made a garbled sound and began to scream.

  “Wait!” he said as they turned around to see him breathing hard, his hand covering his mouth. Rowen narrowed her eyes as she saw the crystal on his neck pulsing through different shades of red. He looked up at them. “Holy shit, they’re coming.”

  Rowen cocked her head in confusion, not sure what he was going on about. She was about to speak when her father spoke up. “Who’s coming, Scotty?” he said, his voice strained.

  Gibbs’ voice dropped to a whisper. She could see his whole body tremble as he looked up to the ceiling. “The Russians. The enemy. They found us, and they’re coming; they’re coming!”

  Rowen looked around the room, her voice caught in her throat. The enemy was at the gates, and the three people who could have done the most to stop them were all dead because of her. She should have found a better way, now everyone else would pay for her mistakes. She had killed them all, they just didn't know it yet.

  Chapter 14: Blinded by the Light

  May 2076

  High above the fallen city, Gwen exalted in a moment of pure joy, dancing among tiny puffs of cloud, the clear horizon and blue sky making her heart sing. With shouts of
glee, she flew like a bullet, sunlight dazzling her spirit as she zigzagged around mighty towers of glass and steel. She had been told that New York was a place of death, its once-shining symphony of light and sound laid to ruin and abandoned by its people, but from her perch far above, all looked well. The buildings, streets, and parks were simply breathtaking, the only eyesore the jagged knife-like tower rising from the heart of Central Park. The crystal stood like a stain along the skyline, its color changing in a mad frenzy from moment to moment. She only gave it a moment's thought before moving westward, dragging along her little harem of boys, following the vague directions she had received from Rodrigo.

  Despite the height, the air was intoxicating, and even with the lingering cold she could catch the occasional aroma of early spring flowers. Daffodils, crocuses, and tulips grew wild along the streets and boulevards. Everywhere she looked she could see the signs, even early in the season. Green was breaking through the concrete, creeping over the now-dead billboards and holo-projectors, Mother Nature having returned with a vengeance to reclaim what was once hers. Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by Uriel and Rodrigo screaming, eyes wide, each in turn gripping her hand in vice-like grips as she dragged them along. She was about to land and get her bearings when movement caught her eye. She had seen and fought enemy drones before—the Russians excelled at letting robots do their killing for them—but she had never seen anything like this. Swarms of tiny machines darkened the sky, careening back and forth in mesmerizing patterns like starlings, the harsh echo of their propellers cutting through the music wailing in her ears. Below them along the avenue ran packs of four-legged metal beasts. They were similar to the ones they had fought in Boston the day Asahi died, their feet like jagged spikes tearing up the pavement with each stride. These ones were a matte gray with a single, glowing red eye at the center of their heads, visible even in the bright light of day. Watching the beasts race down the avenue, her stomach bubbled with worry. The machines weren’t simply patrolling; they were on a warpath, and human beings were about to die; she could feel it.