Into the Fire

by Peter Liney

  “I dunno,” she commented. “Thought you might.”

  She checked up and down the street, looking a little nervous, and I took her arm and led her back to my hiding place beside the wall so we could talk. “Is she okay? They’re not torturing her?”

  “Not really,” she replied, in such a way it sounded like there was a story to tell.

  “What?”

  “She’s staying in their private hospital—guarded twenty-four/seven but living real five-star. I tell ya, she don’t want for a thing.”

  For a moment I just stared at her. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting at all. “How d’you know?”

  She hesitated, and I guessed she was trying to conquer her instinctive reaction not to trust adults, to decide how much to tell me. “I know . . . some people . . . They know some people.”

  “Can I get in there?” I asked immediately.

  She scoffed, as if I was talking utter insanity. “No one can get in there!”

  “There’s gotta be a way.”

  “There ain’t, believe me.”

  “I just need a little information—maybe someone to turn a blind eye.”

  Again she shook her head like there was no point in this conversation and we both fell to silence. Eventually, it was her who broke it. “Is she special in some way?”

  “She’s special in every way,” I told her.

  Gigi couldn’t help herself; she gave this rather rusty, almost dirty, laugh. “Must be love,” she commented. “I know she is to you, but, I mean, is she special to the world, d’ya think? Unique somehow?”

  I stared at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about. “No,” I said, “she can see now but . . . I don’t know what that’s gotta do with anything. I got no idea why they’d want her . . .”

  “Well,” Gigi replied, suddenly sounding that bit older than her years, “for whatever reason, they’re taking care of her as if she’s a goddamn miracle.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I hesitated over it, but in the end took her back to the shelter. She was a friend of Gordie’s and had gone out of her way to try to warn us about Infinity, so I reckoned I could trust her. Mind you, it gave the others a bit of a shock, especially as they were fast asleep when we got back and I asked her to stay ’til morning, said that she could sleep in Arturo’s sleeping-bag.

  You should’ve seen the looks of absolute mystification on their faces when they awoke. Gordie was pretty pleased, you could see that, but he’d never really been one to gush. He just hung out a bit of a grin and gave her a dig in the ribs when she got close enough. Delilah was plainly put out to see someone else in Arturo’s sleeping bag, but after a few minutes of looking like she was on the point of objecting, I guess she decided the time had come to try to move on. The only one who didn’t react in any way was Hanna, which wasn’t that much of a surprise, I guess—but to be honest, this felt a little different and it went through my head that maybe those two didn’t get on. Not that there was anything I could do about it.

  Gigi told us everything that’d happened to her since she’d arrived on the Mainland, expanding on what she’d already said to me: that she’d joined this underground group. At first I didn’t quite get it, I mean, how the hell could she’ve met them so quickly? But apparently when she was on the Island, she was befriended by one of the guys on the garbage boats. He’d even given her an address in case she ever managed to escape. She had no idea how many were in the group—Infinity security was that good, they never dared collect in the same place at the same time. Could be ten, could be a hundred, but again she hinted that they had people on the inside, that there were sympathizers working in Infinity, which, I gotta say, I found pretty hard to believe.

  “But they’re taking good care of Lena?” Delilah asked again, like the rest of us, still finding that hard to believe.

  “Yeah, but . . . like I said, no one knows why.”

  I’d spent most of the night turning that over, trying to make some sense of it, but I tell ya, I was stumped. What made Lena special—not just to me, but to everyone?

  “Maybe it’s got something to do with the tunnels,” I suggested.

  “Whaddya mean?” Gigi asked.

  “The only thing I can think of that used to make Lena different in any way was her ability to see, to function in the dark.”

  There was a silence that I waited to be filled with dismissive comments, but actually, everyone was looking that bit thoughtful.

  “What good is that to them?” Delilah asked.

  I made this gesture, like I had no idea, but Jimmy obviously wasn’t short of them. “Well, for example . . .” he started to say, but suddenly he stopped and turned away.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just . . . thinking it through,” he replied, though he didn’t sound that convincing.

  “Jimmy!”

  “No, really—it’s nothing.”

  “If you don’t tell me—” I threatened.

  “I don’t know!” he cried. “These people are definitely uncool—I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

  “So what could they be up to?”

  He sighed rather helplessly. “I’m not sure how much more work’s been done on it but . . . years ago, there were rumors—I mean, biotechnology’s where it’s at, it has been for years . . . It’s just possible they’ve reached a point where they can take some facets of the human brain and integrate it into a chip . . .”

  “Go on,” I said, a fear beginning to grow deep in my stomach.

  “If they can stabilize the synthesis enough to clone it . . .” After a pause he said, “Sky’s the limit.”

  I just sat there, not really understanding but the words still somehow mesmerizing me, waiting for him to go on.

  Jimmy gave a long sigh. “In theory, they could give every Special her ability, either externally, through some kind of headgear, or internally, through an implant.” Again he stopped, looking distinctly uncomfortable, wanting me to let him off the hook—but I’d just thought of something.

  “When I first went to see Dr. Simon, I kinda barged into his office. I thought he’d have me thrown out, right away. Security were there in seconds. But when I told him all about Lena, about her life, that she’d lived underground for years, blind and without any assistance, his attitude changed: suddenly he wanted to help.”

  There was a long silence, no one quite knowing what to say.

  “Don’t mean nothing,” Delilah eventually mumbled, though plainly she was as worried as the rest of us.

  “So they keep her alive, as healthy as can be, ’til they’ve taken whatever they want from her brain and then . . .” I said. I couldn’t complete the sentence.

  Nobody commented, I guess ’cuz they didn’t like the thought of that any more than I did.

  “If I ever see that doctor again . . .” I muttered.

  “He’s in Infinity,” Gigi told me, “looking after Lena.”

  I grunted. “That’s another good reason to get in there.”

  Gigi said she had to go, people would be wondering where she was, but we insisted on her staying for breakfast. That’s the thing with folk now—ex-Islanders, the homeless, anyone—if you’re offered food, you don’t turn it down. Who knows when you might next get a chance to eat?

  While we were all sitting there, slurping some stewed fruit, Gigi reminiscing with Gordie about stuff that’d happened in the Camp on the Island, Hanna pointedly not joining in, she suddenly stopped. “I thought Arturo was with you?”

  There was a really heavy pause, so heavy, she instantly knew what it meant. “Oh,” she said. “How’d that happen?”

  “Infinity Clean-up,” I told her.

  “They took his body—can you believe that?” Delilah grumbled, almost as if she was pleased to find someone new to tell.

  “Yeah, I can,” Gigi replied.

  “What d’ya mean?” Delilah asked, a little aggressively.

  “What it’s worth.”

>   We all turned to Gigi, waiting for an explanation. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  She stared at us one by one. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

  “No,” I cried in frustration, “we don’t!”

  She gave this long sigh, like she really didn’t see why this particular duty fell to her. “You seen all those sick people?”

  “Zombies,” Gordie said, weakly managing to make a face.

  “They got this mystery illness—causes all kinds of shit: blindness, burning, headaches, nausea . . . organ failure . . .”

  With that pause, the underlining of those last two words, a look of revulsion slowly spread across Delilah’s face. “Is that why they took him?”

  Gigi nodded.

  “Oh no! No!” Delilah moaned, her bony and veined hands clasped to her mouth, her horror-stricken eyes staring out from above them. For several moments there was silence, no one wanting to talk over her grief.

  When Gigi finally continued, she spoke in little more than a whisper, as if to show her respect. “Remember how they used to transport kids’ bodies back over from the Island?”

  I flinched. That was one of the main reasons I’d wanted to destroy that place.

  “Well,” she said, almost matter-of-factly, “no more supply—and a helluva lot more demand.”

  “Is that why they get all excited when they see kids?” Gordie asked.

  “We’re just walking displays of spare parts,” she informed him.

  “Which is why you so rarely see any kids in the City,” I said.

  “Everyone’s after us—especially enticers.”

  “What the hell’s an ‘enticer’?”

  “Nice name for not-nice people: back-street butchers, organ-pushers—they got all these ways of tempting kids into going with them: money, drugs, food, sometimes just candy. Next thing they know they wake up somewhere with one of their kidneys gone. If they’re really unlucky, both of them.”

  “Like to see them try,” Gordie said defiantly.

  “I wouldn’t,” Gigi warned, “not from what I heard. And it ain’t just kids either: some’ll steal organs already stolen. The same kidney might get transplanted into several different bodies. You gotta watch out: if they think you got something worth taking, they’ll cut you open now and ask questions later.”

  “Jesus!” Jimmy gasped. “So what’s the sickness?”

  “No one knows,” she said. “Some people—especially Infinity—give their staff masks, but whether they do any good—?” She shrugged again, her “who the hell knows?” shrug.

  We sat there for a while trying to take it all in. The fact that blindness was one of the symptoms was causing me an understandable measure of concern. “But it’s got nothing to do with Lena?”

  “I dunno,” Gigi answered.

  Nope, and I didn’t either. It was just one unbearable possibility after another. Bad enough that Infinity might be about to steal from her mind; now there was a chance they were out to steal from her body as well.

  When we’d finished eating, Gigi got up to leave. She thanked us for the food and we said our goodbyes, told her she was always welcome but to be careful how she entered the churchyard, then Gordie walked her out.

  I think we all felt kinda exhausted having to absorb all that new information, like a typhoon had just swept through us.

  “Can we trust her?” Jimmy asked.

  “Think so,” I replied.

  Hanna hesitated in that way she has when you know she’s about to speak. “Maybe,” she eventually said.

  “Why d’you say that?” I asked.

  “No reason. Just . . . maybe.”

  I stared at her for a moment. I’d never heard her say a bad word about anyone before, apart from Gordie, of course. What the hell did she know about Gigi?

  I didn’t do a great deal the rest of that day, just hung around the churchyard thinking things through. I got it into my head to hunt through the rubble for Arturo’s cross. I knew it’d been smashed into an uncountable number of pieces, but after a lot of searching, I finally found a fragment with the “Kid” of “Mickey Mouse Kid” on it. I held in my hand, the stone slowly warming. For some reason it gave me a small measure of comfort.

  This situation had been daunting enough before, but now it was an oncoming flood laden with all manner of dark flotsam. Would it really be possible for Infinity to steal Lena’s ability to function without light? I could understand why they’d want to: if the Specials could see in the dark, they’d be even more formidable. Or was there something else they wanted from her? Did this have more to do with the zombie-sick? I just didn’t know, and nothing really fitted together, not neatly, not so’s you couldn’t see the joins.

  The most chilling question was: how long would it take them to get whatever they wanted from her? And, of course, what would they do with her afterward?

  I sighed to myself, repeatedly tossing the “Kid” a few feet into the air and catching it, for one absurd moment thinking I heard Arturo’s shrieking laughter in that spit-second just before he didn’t know if you were going to catch him or not.

  Thank God Lena was apparently safe for the moment, ’cuz sure as hell I didn’t even have the scent of an idea how to bust her out of that place. Everyone was saying it was impossible, and going on what I’d seen, they were probably right—but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t try.

  The problem was, everything was inside that building: Lena, Dr. Simon, the reason why they took her . . .

  Suddenly I stopped, a thought so preoccupying me I let the “Kid” fall to the ground. Just a goddam minute: there was one thing . . .

  I love setting Jimmy problems. You know instantly if it can’t be done ’cuz he looks at you as if you just failed a sanity test, like you should surely know no one can do that, not even him. On the other hand, when he makes that screwed-up face, takes in that long breathy whistle, like you’re talking about uncharted territory but he just might be the one person prepared to venture there, you know you gotta chance, that once he’s made sure you appreciate just how difficult it is, he might actually be able to pull it off.

  We’d already discussed hacking into Infinity, what problems that might present—and the risks were just too great—but what we hadn’t considered was Dr. Simon’s private clinic. Maybe we could grab a look at Lena’s notes, get some more idea why they took her.

  “With this?” the little guy said, snatching the screen from Gordie midgame, inducing a long, mournful groan.

  “If anyone can do it—” I said.

  Jimmy gave a dismissive chuckle, recognizing some clumsy schmoozing when he heard it. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “That’s a good idea, Clancy,” Delilah chipped in.

  “It might be linked to Infinity,” Jimmy told us, just in case we hadn’t realized what he’d be up against.

  “You can do it!” Delilah said, making it sound so easy, such a small challenge, I was worried he might walk away ’cuz it wasn’t worthy of his talents.

  I don’t know if it was that, his need to play up the task, but when he finally did get down to it, he really took his time, forever complaining about having to “break down this, configure that, and, Jeez, there are encryptions everywhere!” Occasionally he’d cuss and shake his head, like it was high time he gave up, but I didn’t know if it was genuine or if he was just setting us up to appreciate how clever he was when he finally triumphed.

  Now and then he’d turn to me, just to confirm some information. “Dr. Simon?”

  “Yep.”

  “Evan Simon?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Whoa,” he said, studying his screen. “Cool.”

  “What?”

  “Got more letters than the alphabet.”

  “Are you in?”

  “Not to patients’ records—not yet.”

  And then you knew he wasn’t going to speak for a while, that it was useless trying to keep the conversation going. He would talk again when he h
ad something to say and not before.

  That went on for the best part of the day. I forced myself to go out for a while, returning an hour or more later, but I don’t think he’d even noticed my absence.

  Finally he turned to me. “What’s her name?”

  “You know her name—”

  “Surname!”

  “Oh . . . Oh Jeez, I dunno—how many Lenas are there?”

  “None.”

  “Shit! No record of her?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe—some odd names here. Could be he’s the soul of discretion. Or maybe he’s just covering his tracks.”

  “She told me once she was of Swedish extraction,” I suddenly remembered. “Does that help?”

  “Mm,” he said, obviously looking through a list of names. “Karllson?”

  “Maybe.”

  He handed me the screen. The name Sonia Linekar was highlighted.

  I shook my head, not understanding. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a crude kinda encryption. He alters the syllable order, then plays around with the letters, like here. Lena Karllson: the ‘son’ at the end goes at the front and she becomes ‘Sonia.’ ‘Lena Karll’ becomes ‘Linekar.’”

  Jesus, I was impressed—if it’d been left to me, we would’ve been there ’til Doomsday.

  “Take a look,” he told me. “It’s private—I don’t think I should.”

  I tapped the screen and up came a lot of details: age, description, medical notes. Much as it pains me to say it—exasperating little cuss that he is at times—once again I was reminded that the guy was a genius, no two ways about it.

  “What does it say?” Gordie asked.

  I looked up and realized four eager faces were staring at me, waiting for my news.

  “Nothing very interesting.”

  “Must be something,” Delilah said.

  I went over it again. No allergies, no problems, no . . . “special talents or gifts.” Then suddenly I stopped and started laughing. Well, well. So Jimmy does get it wrong sometimes.

  “It’s not her,” I said.

  “Must be,” he said, immediately on the defensive.

  “It’s not,” I said, handing him back the screen.