Shadow Life

by Jason Mather

“It would seem that your new enemies are undeterred by your enigmatic code name.”

  “Most of my new enemies are not alive very long.”

  “Friends either.”

  Onyx didn’t respond. Hans tried another line, desperate for some noise in the pitch black.

  “So, what are those things exactly?”

  “What things?” She was being intentionally obtuse.

  “Your pods?”

  “Useful tools.” He could almost see her shrug.

  “Useful at killing?”

  “That too.” Nothing else from her, and the silence stretched out again, the bodies grew nearer. Keep talking, stay calm.

  “Why did you save me?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  His frustration took over from fear, “Jesus, why are you so fucking obtuse?”

  “Hmm?”

  “One of your pods saved my life in the hospital, another one or two took out a group of men trying to kill me in a truck, and last night you cut Elena’s throat open when she tried to strangle me.”

  “Elena served us breakfast this morning.”

  “I know that, but considering I’ve already seen you dead once yourself, I guess it was just as easy to bring her around.”

  “Mr. Ricker, you’re going to have to start making sense. Are you sure you’ve recovered from your injuries?”

  “Fine,” he spat, “keep your fucking secrets. I don’t know what the point of this game is, Ms. Li, but I’ve stopped caring.”

  Her hand struck him across the face, more as a gauge of position and distance than lethality. Another ice-cold hand encircled his throat, squeezed.

  “You will not call me that again, Mr. Ricker, by choice or by force.”

  Hans was seeing something now, stars from an oxygen-starved brain. He reached up to pull her hand off. Her grip was titanium, unmoving. She held him until he began to fade, then the grip was gone. Hans coughed violently, the sound dulled by padded walls. He heard her stand and move to the other side of the container, all of ten feet.

  “You really hate the Chinese, don’t you?” he asked.

  Silence from across the container, silence from outside, blessed silence from the bodies in the back.

  “What did your father do to you to make you hate them so much?” Hans half expected the hand back around his throat, a wickedly sharp knife across his neck, but there was nothing for an uncomfortable stretch.

  “My father killed my mother when he found out about his child. Killed her and took me, raised me with criminals, trained me to seduce and kill. He turned his daughter into a whore.”

  “I thought your mother was killed by terrorists?”

  Onyx sniffed at that, unworthy of a verbal response.

  “So, you killed him. You got your revenge. You win.”

  “Yes, I killed him. There is no winning in murder. He took my mother, I took his life. It was far from a fair trade, and now his men will hunt me until they kill me or I kill every single one of them.”

  “I’d say your pods give you a pretty good advantage.”

  He could hear her rustling across the container, probably sitting down.

  “Have you ever lost a parent?” Her voice was calmer than he’d ever heard it, the edge nearly gone.

  “My mother raised me and Grit, or I guess I should say my mother and Grit raised me. My father was just some sperm donor that passed in the night. I never really thought about him or cared. Mom was all the father I needed.”

  “And if she was murdered, would revenge replace the loss?” The edge was creeping back in now, shields returning to full strength.

  “I pity any man who came after my mother. I’ve seen her put a bullet straight through a bear’s head at six hundred yards. None of this new computer-guided VR scope bullshit needed. The last guy that tried to put a hurting on her limped away with three cracked ribs and a broken collarbone.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Hans thought a moment. “No, nothing would, but I’d try to kill them anyway.”

  “Could you do it?”

  “Mentally… probably. Physically… well… I don’t have the capabilities of Ma or Grit. I was never much use with a gun, don’t really like them. I’m sort of useless in the hand-to-hand department as well.”

  “So, you’d let your sister handle it?”

  “Probably, though Grit would never kill them. She’d bring ‘em in and make ‘em face proper justice.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yeah. Greta’s a letter of the law, by the book type; she’d never take it into her own hands.”

  “I think you may not know your sister as well as you think.”

  “And you know her better?” Hans tried not to bridle under her niggling.

  “I’ve seen a side of your sister you seem unaware of.”

  That one stung. What was she implying? “Really, how’s that?” He kept his voice calm.

  “Oh, just girl talk, you know how it is.” The smirk in her voice was unmistakable.

  “Did you sleep with my sister?” The question was out before he could swallow it. Jackass.

  Onyx laughed heartily, a surprising noise in the confined space. “Would that bother you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because she’d be a lesbian?”

  “No, because it was you.”

  Onyx laughed again, softer this time. “You don’t consider me worthy of your sister?”

  “No.”

  “I’m hurt, Hans.” She was teasing him. He hated being teased.

  “Fuck you, Illiyana,” he said, hoping that would bring a rise but not violence.

  “Relax, Hans, your sister and I are not lovers. Neither of us is inclined in that direction. Besides, from observation she’s obviously enthralled with her second, and he her.”

  “Gino, you mean.”

  “Yes, that’s his name, though duty prevents them. Your sister is very much like the Chinese in that way.”

  “Duty before love and all that.”

  “Something like that, though I never saw it in my father or any of his thugs.”

  Hans felt something like relief, though it was entwined with shame at letting her goad him. The exchange had at least cleared some tension.

  A scrabbling noise came from outside, followed by the sound of Onyx’s forces cutting through the roof. Meager light accompanied the sound of tearing metal. Cold, blinding light pierced the black interior, jumping around, doubling and trebling, the pods thumping to the ground around him, the light stopping its nauseating movement.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

  Onyx ignored him and spoke something to the pod. It followed her to the back, taking its glow with it. Inspecting the bodies. God knows why. To see if they’d been filleted?

  Curiosity got the better of him, along with not wanting to be left alone in the dark again.

  Rows of feet stuck out from the back, the light lending them morgue-like shadows. The bodies were racked like wine bottles, vintage unknown, though none smelled like they’d gone bad. Onyx stood before a pulled-out rack, staring silently at it, surprise around her eyes and lips. Hans moved closer, forced himself to look down.

  Superficially male. Broad-shouldered, well-muscled, hairless, genital-less. The whole body smooth and uniform. The face was of her bodyguard. Hans couldn’t drum up any surprise.

  Onyx slid the body back, and it rolled smoothly into its housing. She pulled out the one below it. Female, no distinguishing marks, no genitals, another exquisite mannequin. Hans had seen this one before. It was Elena, again. On a hunch, he pulled out the one next to Beefy. Beefy number two slept quietly beside his twin. He didn’t need to check the stall below for another Elena. He’d seen enough, but wanted to try another row, unable to convince himself. Onyx beat him to it, yanked out the rack at head level, and took a step backward.

  It was her, smooth and unfinished like the others, yet rendered so
well Hans instinctively turned away for the sake of propriety. The drawer slammed closed, and Onyx walked toward the exit.

  One row left. He couldn’t look, couldn’t not, unsure if seeing himself rendered as artificial would break his tenuous hold on panic. Too late to turn back. The drawer came out, Hans trying to glance quickly from his peripheral vision, as if he could somehow sneak up on the horror.

  It wasn’t him, thank God. The face was familiar, though. Hans had accepted a ride from the man, had drunk vodka with him in Onyx’s fortress. The boss, the benefactor. James, he’d called himself.

  “You should see this,” he yelled to Onyx.

  “I’ve seen enough.” If she was distraught she was covering it well. “We’re getting out of here, and this place is coming down.”

  He swallowed his questions, not wanting to be lied to again. Eventually she’d tell him the truth… maybe. He was starting to wonder how sane this woman actually was.

  Hans climbed out the top of container to a greatly altered scene. Nearly all the ceiling had come down, combining the storehouse and throne room in one massive hall, the ceiling nearly a hundred feet overhead. The wall behind him was completely gone, both floors open to the outside, dust obscuring the view. Lights played across the room as wandering pods were still digging in the rubble, clearing a corridor to the entrance to the room above, now set in a wall about thirty feet off the ground. She was already halfway across the room. Hans followed.

  The pods did their ladder trick again. Onyx scrambled up. He climbed behind her, trying not to huff and puff too obviously.

  Lorilei was in the middle of the floor in the hallway outside, surrounded by more of the pods. Hans knelt and put his ear to her chest. Her heat still beat, lungs still breathing. Still, it couldn’t be good to be out this long. She’d taken a severe blow to the head, and every minute she stayed unconscious only increased the likelihood she’d never wake at all. The only doctor he knew was hundreds of miles from here, and they couldn’t stay in Salt Lake long enough to get her treatment.

  “How do you propose we get out of here?” he asked, lifting Lorilei off the ground. The pods reached after her like greedy toddlers. He kicked one away. It barely moved.

  “You said you could drive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we drive.”

  They returned to the ornate garage, still filled with its armada of stretch limos. Onyx looked to him to choose one. He led them past the limos, hoping Brigham kept something a little more practical. He lucked out. A sleek, black four-door, large but not stretched. Hans tried the door; locked. They’d all be locked unless you were authorized.

  Onyx had a short conversation with her unseen helper. The doors unlocked and the car started, electric engine giving a short whir to signal readiness. Hans hoped the fuel cell was filled.

  He opened the rear door, placed the girl gently in the back, ignoring Onyx’s exasperated look, and slipped into the driver’s seat. The dashboard told him everything was good, cell filled, plenty of juice to get them out of town.

  “Can your friend get us out of here?”

  Onyx slid into the passenger seat, sub-vocalized something. The car began to descend.

  CHAPTER 6

  We have a problem.

  “Yes?”

  I no longer have control of the pods.

  “Who does then?”

  I do not know. There is an… inconsistency… in the system.

  “Do you have any link with them at all?”

  They are still sending proper status updates, but I have been blocked from sending.

  “So, we’re going to have fifteen hundred rogue pods running around Salt Lake?”

  No. Much worse. Whoever is controlling them is bringing them together and setting them for detonation.

  “We were going to take down the building anyway.”

  Yes. Destruction of the building required only about thirty or so pods in key locations. They are currently grouped en masse and all going to go at once.

  “Safe distance?”

  Three quarters of a mile minimum.

  “Time?”

  Fifty-two seconds.

  — «» —

  “We have to go faster.”

  Hans was creeping through streets packed with people, leaning on the horn. They parted easily, but not quickly. In the last ten minutes, he’d only covered half a mile or so. Onyx had spent the time conversing with her mysterious partner, mumbling terse phrases and single words from the passenger seat.

  “What do you want me to do? Run them over?”

  Onyx rolled down the nearly jet-black side window, leaned out, and threw something he couldn’t see. Told him to close his eyes.

  Even with his eyes closed the flash partially blinded him, the noise immense. Yelling and screaming, people fled down the street away from the car, parting toward the sidewalks.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  “Motivation. Drive fast, we have thirty seconds to reach a safe distance.”

  Hans twisted the throttle, pushed the stick forward. The road ahead was partially cleared, the lane still cramped, the car not designed for speed or handling.

  “If you wish your girl to survive, I suggest you drive faster.”

  “What the hell did you do?”

  She just pointed down the road. Hans drove faster, cross streets passing, blew through a red light with no cross traffic.

  “Ten seconds.” Her voice was grating, tense.

  Two more blocks, then Armageddon went off behind him.

  It wasn’t a boom so much as being hit by a freight train. The car lifted, nose heavy, and threatened to flip over. The safety features triggered, encapsulating Hans in acrid white foam. The rear end came crashing back down. Everything was muffled, the foam temporarily filling his ears. Maybe yells, maybe crashes, maybe destruction, his world a mass of sticky fluff. He tasted some of it, gagged. They say it’s non-toxic, but he didn’t trust they.

  The car settled, foam already softening, falling away. Hans wiped his eyes, tried to clear his ears. Started to ask if Onyx was OK, but the passenger seat was already empty, Onyx scrambling for the rear door. He thought of Lori. Had to push the driver’s door hard to exit. Stood and looked back.

  A plume of dust blocked the sky behind him, rising to the limits of his vision. Vaporized cement and metal, probably people. How many in a town like this? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? His mind revolted, refused him answers. Get the girl, get out of here.

  Hans opened the rear door, a mantra for Lori on his lips. Onyx was crouched over her, faces almost touching. “She’s ok.” The relief in her voice surprised Hans, angered him.

  “Get away from her!” He reached in, put his hands on Onyx’s shoulders, and shoved hard. Bad idea. Onyx never shifted, just grabbed a wrist in each hand and twisted viciously, until pain shot from his wrists to elbow. Hans gritted his teeth at her, snarled ineffectually.

  “No time for this, Hans, we have to get ourselves and the sphere out of here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. How many more people have to die for this stupid sphere of yours?”

  “I did not kill these people.” Her voice was calm, frosty.

  “Right, tell me another.”

  “Why would I put myself in the blast radius?”

  “I’ve seen you survive death once, why not a second time?”

  The staring contest continued for an eternal five seconds, neither backing down. Then Onyx let his hands flop numbly to the seat. Hans tried to move them, get some feeling back.

  “I haven’t injured you. Get the girl. This car is finished. We’re going to need another.”

  She was right; the impact and resulting crash had destroyed the rear suspension. The body of the car was sitting directly on the ground, its back wheels splayed out behind it, like a dog sleeping on a tile floor. It would have been funny in another situation. Hans lifted Lori gently from the back. She did not appear hurt, at least no more than she
had been. He threw her over his shoulder, blanket flopping around her legs.

  The street around was more empty than he’d seen since their arrival, but there were still plenty of people milling around, staring in shock at the wall of dust, now filling nearly one whole side of the sky, flowing down the street in the distance. Being caught out in the open wouldn’t be fun.

  Onyx was already heading for a doorway in a small, three-story brick building. The whole street was full of them, cut and pasted one after the other in both directions. Old suburbia as rendered by a cheap modeling program. He followed, trying not to jostle the girl too much.

  She reached the door and kicked it open without even a knock. It blew back on its hinges, nearly falling over. She disappeared into the darkness. Hans entered and tried to shut the door behind him, but couldn’t close it all the way; she’d damaged it. He pushed it closed as much as possible and wedged a small table against it. There was more yelling and a loud crash from the room beyond the foyer.

  A man was lying curled up on the floor, Onyx crouched over him, brandishing one of her knives, threatening a woman of about fifty and a trio of young men. Hans didn’t see any blood; she’d given the man the same treatment as the door. One of the young men looked ready to move against her. Onyx stood cold, unmoving, waiting for him. Hans needed to diffuse the situation.

  “Please, we just need shelter for a few minutes. This girl is hurt, we need to lay her down.”

  The woman moved away from the wall, nurture overriding fear. Hans put a hand on Onyx’s shoulder. She swung around. Hans stood his ground, tried to appear calm. She relaxed, the knife disappeared. Since when was he the cool-headed one?

  The woman was at his shoulder now, pulling at his arm. Hans let her lead him into the next room, a small study done up in wood paneling and old charts, very safari. He laid Lori down on a black leather couch.

  “What happened?” The woman crouched over her, feeling for bruises and breaks, obviously trained to do it.

  He couldn’t tell her the truth. “Explosion knocked her out. I don’t know if she was hit by something.” A terrible lie, and she knew it, too. What was a girl doing outside in a man’s bathrobe, accompanied by two outsiders, one armed and violent? They both let it lie for now. The woman stood and left, and returned a minute later with a small first aid kit, old but well-kept. She went about her work efficiently, ignoring him. He left her to it and returned to Onyx.