Sunspire (The Reach, Book 4)

by Mark R. Healy

  He kept expecting something to be lurking out there, something sinister hiding in the depths of the subway.

  “You can quit worrying,” the stocky man, whom they simply referred to as ‘Motor’, said from the driver’s seat. “No one comes down here anymore. This is gonna be a nice, smooth ride.”

  “Yeah. I just don’t like surprises.”

  Motor waved dismissively at him. “Go back and enjoy the party. It’s under control.”

  Reluctantly, Duran turned and stepped out of the cab and moved back into the passenger section, where Zoe and the others were talking and laughing amongst themselves. There were nine of them in all, a mixture of men and women from different backgrounds. Duran hadn’t had time to get to know any of them in any great depth, but as a whole they seemed relaxed and jovial, as if they’d already left their troubles behind.

  The shuttle itself was nothing much to look at on the inside. Every surface was pockmarked with rust, and the upholstery on the seats had been ripped up or gouged to the point where there was nothing left but bare metal.

  No one seemed to mind, however. Not in the least.

  “Don’t just stand there, Alec,” Zoe called out. She patted the seat next to her, smiling. “Come on over here.”

  There was a rowdy conversation going on between the others, and no one paid him much mind. Duran moved over to where Zoe was waiting and settled into place, still unable to relax.

  “Keeping an eye on Motor, huh?” de Villiers said from nearby, an amused look on his face.

  “Just edgy, that’s all.”

  “Don’t sweat it. No one’s going to get in the way of this train.”

  “If you say so.”

  De Villiers was silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then he straightened and gestured vaguely around them.

  “Imagine what this shuttle might have been like fifty years ago. We might have been a bunch of regular people on our way to work right now. Bankers, computer techs. Grocers. Just sitting here waiting for our stop. That’s how it used to happen, you know. I’ve seen old broadcasts.”

  “So what? None of us have ever known that life,” Zoe said. “And we never will.”

  “You sure of that?” de Villiers mused. “Never is a long time.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Zoe said.

  De Villiers stared out the window at the gloomy concrete walls of the subway. “I would’ve liked to try it. Just once, to have what they took for granted back then. What they might have thought was a regular life.” He jerked his chin at them. “What about you two? Have you figured out what you want?”

  “What do you mean?” Duran said.

  “What happens to you after your little quest is over?” de Villiers said. “Have you thought that far ahead?”

  Duran and Zoe looked at each other, caught off-guard by the directness of the question. Duran was about to reply when he felt a change in the shuttle’s orientation.

  They were heading up an incline.

  “Whoa, here we go!” de Villiers said excitedly. “Here we go!”

  “What’s happening?” Zoe said.

  “We’ve almost cleared the subway,” de Villiers said. “We’re moving up in the world.” He cupped his hand to his mouth and raised his voice. “Hey, Motor! Don’t scratch the paintwork on this thing, you hear?”

  Motor stretched over and looked back at them from the driver’s seat. “No probs, De! There ain’t no paintwork to scratch!”

  Duran looked beyond Motor’s bald head and saw uneven patches of light coming at them at high velocity. As they neared, he realised that they were almost upon the end of the subway, the opening having been sealed from the outside world.

  De Villiers linked his fingers through a handgrip that hung from the roof. “Don’t forget to activate the doors!” he bellowed at Motor. Then, “Hang on to your breakfast, kids.”

  Motor hit a switch on the console, and the steel grate that barred the exit swung outward. There was still something in the way, however, and Duran realised at the last minute that some wooden boards had also been nailed across the exit.

  They hit the planks at full tilt, and the shuttle shuddered harshly, sending those who had not secured a handgrip sprawling on the floor. Fragments of wood exploded around them, and suddenly the harsh light of the outside world flooded into the compartment.

  “Woohoo!” de Villiers shouted. He laughed and reached down to halt the progress of a woman who had fallen from her seat. “I told you to hang on, Annie!”

  Annie accepted his hand and then slumped into the seat next to Duran and Zoe.

  “A little more warning might be good, next time,” she said with a rueful grin.

  De Villiers gave her a pat on the shoulder, then turned to the others. “We’re clear, ladies and gentlemen. And I think that’s worth drinking to!”

  Perplexed, Duran directed his gaze out of the scratched window beside him. Through the graffiti scrawl he could see the sun beating down on a barren wasteland that pressed in from all sides – the lowlands.

  He craned his neck further and saw that Link and the Reach were already dwindling behind them.

  They’d travelled much further than he’d realised.

  “Gather round,” de Villiers was saying. Suddenly he had a bottle of liquor in his hand, and from a satchel he produced an assortment of tiny glasses, which he proceeded to line up along one of the seats. “I’ve been saving this up for a while.”

  He sloshed the liquor into the glasses and began to hand them around. Before he knew it, Duran had one thrust into his own hands. It was a clear fluid that smelled vaguely of citrus, but not being one for alcohol, he had no idea what it was.

  “Bottoms up!” de Villiers said, taking his shot in one gulp. He gasped in satisfaction, then poured himself another.

  “What is this?” Duran said to Zoe. She merely shrugged, then followed de Villiers’ lead. She smacked her lips and sat thoughtfully for a moment.

  “Happy juice,” she said eventually, then held up her glass for a refill. “Go for it, Alec.”

  Duran gave the glass another sniff, contemplating whether or not he should try it, then decided to throw caution to the wind.

  Why the hell not?

  The stuff was bitter and hot in his throat, causing his eyes to water, but by the time it hit his belly it didn’t seem so bad. It created a kind of soothing warmness within him that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

  “Happy juice,” he marvelled, turning the empty glass over in his hand.

  “Happy juice,” Zoe said, clinking her freshly refilled glass against his before taking another slug.

  The woman next to them, Annie, leaned toward them conversationally. “Say, you two look like a nice couple. Been together long?”

  “About a week,” Zoe said. “Although it seems a lot longer.”

  “In a good or a bad way?” Annie said.

  Zoe pretended to weigh that up. “Mmm… good,” she said finally.

  “So, how did you meet?”

  Zoe hesitated, then began to laugh. She shook her head. “There’s no way I can tell you that without sounding like a complete psychopath.”

  Annie sat up, her interest piqued. “Well, now you have to tell me. Come on, spill it. When was the first time you saw each other?”

  Zoe gave Duran an affectionate stare that was tinged with more than a hint of embarrassment.

  “Well, the first time I saw him was on a security feed in the Reach. He was in Gaslight, going toe-to-toe with a street thug who had killed two Enforcers the week before.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I sat there watching, thinking that he would turn and run. Most Enforcers would have. But not this one. He didn’t back down. And what’s more, he ended up cracking the guy’s head. Took him down hard.”

  Duran couldn’t help but return her smile. “Really? Who was it?”

  “I don’t remember him. I just remember you.”

  “And what happened after that?” Annie said, sipping at her gla
ss of liquor.

  “After that, I stalked him for about six months. Followed his every move. Pretty romantic, huh?”

  “Stalked him how?” Annie said.

  “Sometimes it was on security feeds, other times I was on foot, following him. I’m good at keeping track of targets, remaining unseen. Always have been.”

  “Creepy,” Duran said.

  “You loved every minute of it,” Zoe teased.

  “Maybe if I’d known you were there in the first place.”

  “It gave me a chance to get to know you, anyway.”

  “Yeah. I hear that six months of stalking is how most great romances start.”

  “So what about you?” Annie said to Duran. “When did you first see her?”

  Duran tapped his finger on his mouth. “Let me think. Oh, yeah. I remember. She was pulling me off a roof, three kilometres high.”

  Annie laughed. “That’s different.”

  “I was saving his life, by the way,” Zoe remarked.

  “That’s what she says. Pulled me out into thin air with no parachute, nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if my feet have touched the ground yet. Things have been pretty insane since that moment.”

  They continued to chat for another hour, and whether it was the liquor, the fact that the Reach was now behind them, or something else, Duran felt more relaxed than he had done in years. He had to admit that de Villiers and his friends made good company. It was a strange feeling for Duran, who had spent so many years among the Enforcers being unliked, totally focussed on the job, with little time to forge relationships. He felt like a different person.

  Unexpectedly and out of nowhere, he had found a new start.

  He wondered if perhaps that was the reason he and Zoe had ended up on this shuttle. The hand of fate gently guiding them in the right direction.

  Peripherally, he was aware that Sunspire Mountain was looming closer. Motor had told them that the track did not lead directly to the mountain itself, but rather wound past a few kilometres to the south. He and Zoe would still need to travel the last section of the journey on foot.

  Assuming they were still going to get off the shuttle.

  They didn’t have to, Duran realised. They could just stay here, rather than braving the lowlands and whatever waited for them at the top of Sunspire.

  De Villiers seemed to sense the conflict within Duran, making his way over to sit next to Annie as Sunspire Mountain neared.

  “So, decision time,” he said to Duran quietly. “What’s it going to be? Are we stopping?”

  The smile wilted from Zoe’s face, and she seemed to sober up instantly.

  “I have my own thoughts,” she said. “But I want to hear what you have to say first, Alec.”

  Duran gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, deep in thought. The easy choice was just to stay on the shuttle. He knew that much. They were out. He and Zoe had left all the shit behind, the mess of their lives within the Reach. But he had to remind himself that, once this shuttle ride ended, there would be no guarantee of safety. No guarantee of a future. They were heading out into the lowlands, and for all he knew, they might be dead in a week.

  On the other hand, they could be dead in a few hours if they took their chances at Sunspire. Those were Redmen up there, and who knew what else? Were he and Zoe prepared to step back into a shitstorm simply because he had experienced a guilt trip back at his father’s place?

  But at the thought of that, Duran’s illusions melted away. He saw his father’s face in his mind, imagined how disappointed the old man would be if his son were to turn his back and walk away from this fight, cutting Talia and the others adrift and allowing the Consortium to ride roughshod over the downtrodden once again.

  No, he had to do this. If his father’s memory meant anything to him, he had to follow it through to the end.

  Everyone has the power to make a difference, Alec, but only some ever use it.

  Zoe was smiling at him, as if she already knew what he was going to say.

  “There’s no decision to make,” Duran said simply. “Tell Motor to stop this thing. It’s time we got off.”

  35

  “You’ve lost them,” Rojas said. “That’s what you’re saying.”

  Yefim shifted uneasily. “No. Not exactly.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  Yefim’s eyes moved across the desolate landscape as he evaluated his response.

  “I think we need to consider taking a different approach. Their tracks ended at the old highway, and I haven’t picked them up again. We might be headed in the wrong direction.”

  “Headed in the wrong direction?” Rojas spat. He knew that his voice was shrill, that he was becoming unhinged, but he couldn’t help it. Roman was slipping away. “I thought you could track people out here. Why have I been paying your wages all these years if you can’t do the things I ask?”

  “I can find them. I just need more time.”

  Rojas swung his arm to the west, where a swath of dark sky that stretched out to the horizon was rapidly encroaching.

  “Have you seen what’s coming up behind us?” Rojas said. “Have you even looked?”

  “Yes. I see the storm.”

  “So you’ll understand that there is no more time. After the rain and the wind have swept across this place, there will be no traces left to find.” Yefim said nothing. “Will there?”

  “Probably not.”

  “So that settles it. We find them before the storm hits, or Ciro will slip through my grasp again.” He shook his head emphatically. “That can’t happen. I’ve waited too long for this. I’ve come too far.”

  Rojas raised the binoculars and scanned the lowlands around them yet again. To the east lay a mountain range, but there were passes to both the north and the south.

  Their quarry could have gone in any direction. Or perhaps they had found shelter somewhere, and he and Yefim had bumbled past them like a pair of blind men.

  “Hopeless,” he said, dropping the binoculars back into his pack. “Fucking hopeless.”

  Yefim said nothing, continuing to look about through his own binoculars in a futile search for clues. Rojas felt for the hunting knife on his belt.

  How easy it would be to step over and slit your throat, he thought. You deserve nothing less for what you’ve given me.

  He pulled the knife free and took a step toward Yefim, and for a moment he thought that he might actually do it, that the act may actually sate his bloodlust.

  But as he moved, Yefim spoke.

  “Movement,” he said, pointing. “There, to the south.”

  Rojas stopped, jammed the knife back into its hilt. “Is it them?”

  “Not sure from this distance,” Yefim said. He lowered the binoculars and started up his quad bike. “There’s only one way to find out,” he yelled over the roar of the engine.

  They sped across the terrain, their wheels churning great wads of dirt in their wake, and soon closed in on their target. Thumping across the old highway, they reached the place where Yefim had seen movement amid a cluster of crumbled walls that stuck out of the earth like weathered gravestones.

  Once again, Vincent Rojas was left disappointed. This was not the one he sought.

  They drew to a halt and killed the engines. Not far away stood an old man towing a cart full of blackened rocks, watching them dispassionately.

  “What you want?” the old man grunted.

  “We’re looking for someone,” Rojas said, striding over toward the man with Yefim a step behind.

  “Not me,” the old man said. “I ain’t nothin’ to nobody.”

  “No, it’s not you that we seek,” Rojas said. “We’re looking for a group of people who might’ve come this way earlier today.”

  The old man glanced around doubtfully. “Not many venture through these parts. Not lately.”

  “We’re looking for a boy with black hair,” Rojas went on. “Dark as night. With him there might have been a da
rk-skinned man and a young woman.”

  He drew out his holophone and showed the old man the photograph of Roman. The old man stared at it for a few seconds, then hocked noisily and launched a wad of phlegm on the side of the road.

  “Like I said, not many venture through here.” He scratched his face. “But I might’ve seen someone looked like that not long ago.”

  Rojas felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Well? Which way did they go?”

  The old man seemed to mull over that as he stared out to the west. “Storm’s comin’. I’m guessin’ you fellas are in a hurry.”

  “Spill your guts, man,” Yefim said. “Speak up.”

  The old man nodded. “Could use some coin to loosen my tongue, if you know what I’m sayin’. I’m in debt to the Parkinsons over at Dry Gully–”

  “I have no coin,” Rojas said, “but I have steel.” His hand dropped to his hunting knife. “Would that be an acceptable substitute?”

  The old man smacked his dry lips together nervously. “A’ight, a’ight. Just feelin’ the waters. Can’t blame me for that.”

  Rojas drew the knife with a flourish and stepped forward, pressing in close to the old man’s neck.

  “Speak, you miserable sack of bones!”

  “They passed through here, might be an hour ago,” the old man said quickly, his eyes darting between the two men who stood before him. “There was the boy and the woman, just as you said, and a couple more with ’em. Burly types. I didn’t see no black fella, though.”

  “But the boy was there?” Rojas said intently. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, my eyes ain’t too good, but I’d say it was the one you’re after.”

  “Where did they go?”

  The old man pointed over his shoulder. “That way. They were headed up Sunspire Mountain, right over there.”

  Rojas stared up the nearby peak, which sat grey and obscure in the failing light.

  “Sunspire Mountain?” he said. “What is that?”

  “It’s haunted. I told ’em not to go up there, but they didn’t bother listenin’ to me. No one does, these days.”