Blood Day

by J. L. Murray

  Sia hated being pitied. She turned away, closing the heavy door harder than needed. Still no one came. She took a step to her right, then another, her heels clicking on the tile. She looked uncertainly around one more time, before deciding to just walk until someone stopped her. She passed another room, the door open. It was empty. So was the next one. Every room was empty, without furniture, and had the heavy drapes drawn tight. But every ten feet there were small decorative tables with fresh flowers.

  After passing two dozen empty rooms, Sia heard footsteps coming from the other direction; a woman, judging from the staccato sound of the clicks. Sia froze, unable to move. She wanted to dodge into the closest room and hide, but her legs wouldn't move. She thought of her last electroshock session and feared for a moment she would wet herself. Once when she struck Evelyn Hauser, there had been another ice bath. When she refused to eat, they strapped her to the wall and hosed her again, this time alternating icy cold and searing hot water. Sia began to cry, and that made her angry at the same time. But still her legs quivered like the bones had been removed and she couldn't stop the tears running down her face. When the approaching figure came into view, her vision was so blurry that she could barely make her out. But Sia would know that head-to-toe black lace anywhere.

  The figure rushed toward her, and Sia was finally able to move her feet far enough to plunge herself against the dark wall, the force sending her to the floor, her knees banging hard against the tile.

  “Sia! What happened?” said Mathilde. Her voice was concerned. Not angry at all. Sia looked up at her. She had put a tentative gloved hand on Sia's shoulder as she hugged the wall.

  “Are you hurt?” said Mathilde when Sia didn't answer. “Did someone do this to you?”

  “I...” Sia's voice seemed to be stuck in her throat. Her face was cold from the tears. She blinked, the panic subsiding a bit. “Y-you're not angry?”

  “Why would I be angry?” said Mathilde. She crouched down next to Sia and took her hand.

  “I just wanted to look around,” Sia said softly. “The man said it was all right.”

  “Of course it's all right, ma belle. Why would it not be?” Mathilde watched her for a moment. “Oh,” she said. “I see. I'm afraid that you have not been treated very well, have you?”

  “You're not going to shock me?” said Sia. “Or make me sit in ice?”

  “I will never make you do anything you don't want to do, Sia,” said Mathilde. “Much less torture you. Come, now, get up. We cannot just sit here on the filthy floor.” She stood and pulled Sia up by the arm. She was much stronger than she appeared.

  Sia stood, her whole body quivering.

  “Oh, you poor girl,” said Mathilde. “Let us get you some tea, shall we? And then I'll give you a tour.”

  “A tour of what?” said Sia.

  “Why, of the hospital, of course,” said Mathilde. “I'm sure you've never seen it in its entirety. I think it is important that you see the good work we are doing here at Munson. Along with the...unfortunate necessities.”

  Sia nodded. She felt out of sorts, confused, as she always did when Mathilde leaned close and spoke to her quietly. But the moment passed and Mathilde was leading Sia by her gloved hand down the hall past her room, around a corner, and then they were in a small dining room. Sia's shoes sank into a thick mauve carpet and the walls were painted a cheerful pink. There were potted plants with pink flowers spilling over shelves and pictures of gardens. A round white table with four white chairs sat in the very center of the room.

  “It's excessively civilized,” said Mathilde apologetically. “Sit.”

  Sia did as she was told. Mathilde picked up a nearby telephone and pressed a button.

  “Tea for Ms. Aoki, s'il vous plaît.” She hung up the phone and joined Sia at the table.

  “Thank you,” Sia muttered.

  “My pleasure,” said Mathilde, her eyes sparkling behind the lace.

  “I'm not like this,” said Sia, suddenly feeling a need to justify herself. “I've never been like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Afraid,” said Sia. “I mean, I am afraid of some things. Needles. Big dogs. Heights. But I don't...do what you saw me do.”

  “It's completely normal, my dear,” said Mathilde. “You've been through a trial. You were a victim of addiction. What was done to you was to combat that particular monster. I am sorry that it affected you in such a way, but in time you will recover. You may even thank the ones responsible for your rehabilitation. You are taking your first steps, really.”

  “Steps toward what?” Sia said.

  “I am of the opinion that you are stepping away from something, rather than toward it.”

  “Okay then, what am I stepping away from?” said Sia. Stepping away sounded like running to her.

  “Weakness,” said Mathilde. “The worst monster of all.”

  “You think I'm weak?” said Sia.

  “I think you were,” said Mathilde. “But I also think you will be strong in a very short time. Maybe stronger than any of us.”

  Sia met her eyes. “What are they going to do to me?” she said.

  “Oh, relax, ma belle,” Mathilde said, her voice cheerful and gay. “Only good things will come to you from here on out. You really must trust me. After all, I am not the one responsible for your suffering.”

  “Who is then?” said Sia.

  “Why, you are responsible, Sia. No one else. You must be strong now. You will no longer have the luxury of blaming others for your inadequacies. This is your call to action.”

  “Oh,” said Sia softly. Her head was swimming again as Mathilde leaned closer to her, her voice lowering to a whisper.

  Someone cleared their throat and a woman stood in the doorway with a tray. Mathilde waved her in. The girl set the tray on the table and then left the way she came. There were small, delicate teacups on the table, a graceful-looking teapot of the same china, and several small plates containing various cookies. Mathilde lifted the teapot.

  “Now,” she said, as she poured the tea perfectly into the little cups. “I am going to teach you to be a lady.”

  “Why?” said Sia.

  “Because, dear girl,” said Mathilde, handing her a steaming cup, “your grace will make you strong just as much as...well, other things.”

  “Other things?”

  “In good time,” Mathilde said, a note of annoyance in her voice. “Now do as I do, Sia.”

  Sia did as she was told.

  Eleven

  Mike cursed as he held the small letter up to the light.

  “Is that an s or an 8?” he said.

  Dez shrugged. “Just make the flunkies do this part.”

  “I have to learn it so I can teach them. Stop being an asshole and come help me.”

  Dez tossed the newspaper onto the cellar floor. “This is all bullshit, you know.”

  “I know that,” said Mike. “But it's bullshit that keeps us alive.”

  “I don't trust this Flynn guy,” said Dez. “He's shifty.”

  “So are you,” said Mike.

  “Yeah, but I'm a charming sort of shifty,” said Dez. “He's just creepy and ooky. No charm. And I always feel like he's sizing me up for a roasting pan.”

  “Where'd you get that newspaper?” Mike said, suddenly realizing that Dez had been reading the Post. “That's my old paper.”

  “One of the kids brought it back last night,” said Dez.

  “Anything interesting in there?” said Mike.

  “You mean is there anything about you?” said Dez. “No, brother. They're not going to print that shit. It's all hush-hush, you know that.”

  Mike sighed. “I know. I just thought maybe...”

  “Here's something,” said Dez, standing up and stretching his long body. He grabbed the rafters with the tips of his fingers. “You know these trees that have been popping up everywhere?”

  “Yeah,” said Mike. “I saw one on my street a few months ago and my landlady t
old me it was a hawthorn, bigger than any she had ever seen. But those are, you know, pranks, right? Everyone says it's The Fallen doing it.”

  “No way,” said Dez. “This is something else. I talked to one of our birds when she got back from her reporting gig last night. She's the one who gave me the paper.”

  “Just chatting with her, eh?” said Mike.

  “Beside the point,” said Dez. “She said there's trees popping up everywhere now. Two or three a night. They've got the Movers working overtime, not picking up junkies, removing all these trees. Roots and all. They're growing in the middle of roads and parking lots.”

  “Okay,” said Mike.

  “This bird said her friend was at one of these trees when they City came to cut it down. It was in the middle of a sidewalk. The damn thing started bleeding, Mike. Damn tree bleeding this thick black blood all over the sidewalk, sprayed her friend and all the people watching.”

  Mike went silent. “She said something else, too,” said Dez.

  “What’s that?”

  “The Post? Your favorite little paper you love to hate?”

  “What about it?”

  “They had to shut down the entire office. There were three huge bloody trees inside the office. The ceiling was destroyed, floors, basement, the whole works. They had to relocate to keep the paper going. Pretty weird shit, right?”

  Mike stared at him for a minute. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Weird shit.”

  “Creepy trees growing in the middle of a building. What the hell?”

  Mike tossed the tiles back into a box.

  “You know, come to think of it, my last night on the Mover job, there was a tree like that.” Dez noticed the expression on Mike's face. “Hey, you okay, Mike?”

  “You saw one of these trees?” said Mike.

  “Yeah. The night I arrested Sia. She was leaning up against it, like it was a chair. That was some messed up shit. Pretty little Japanese girl so high on Slack she could barely talk, and she was covered in blood. Real blood, not any tree sap.”

  Mike stared at him, something clicking in his head. “Why didn’t you take her to the prison? That's where they take the junkies now, right? For lifetime donorship?”

  “Yeah, usually,” said Dez. “But we got a call on the radio. They told us to take her to Munson.”

  “The experimental hospital,” said Mike. “What are they doing there?”

  “I dunno,” said Dez. “The short time I was there, I was only in one wing. It seemed like a real hospital where I was. Except one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sia was the only patient.”

  “And when you found her she was covered in blood with one of these trees. Notice anything weird about the trees, Dez?”

  “You mean besides how they spring up overnight and spurt blood everywhere?”

  Mike met his eyes. “You ever really look at one of them?”

  “I dunno,” said Dez. “They have flowers?”

  “The trunks,” said Mike. “They look strange. Like something’s caught inside. Like the tree just grew around something.” Mike rubbed a hand on his face, his whiskers scratching like fine sandpaper. It seemed impossible, what he was thinking. Crazy.

  “I think I know what they are,” said Mike.

  “What? They’re trees, Mikey.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Then what are they?” said Dez.

  “Revs,” said Mike. “Remember what Flynn told us, about how to kill them? He said they die from a stake to the heart, but it has to be a stake from a very specific tree.”

  “So?” said Dez. “You think that’s what these trees are?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Mike. “But I think that our new benefactor is killing Revs. And I think these bleeding trees mark their graves.”

  Dez stared at him, a skeptical expression on his face. “Why would he do that?” said Dez after a long time. “Isn't he one of them?”

  “I have no idea what he is,” said Mike. “He's like they used to be. But something happened. They changed and he didn't. I know it sounds goddamn crazy. But it’s a theory. Those trees, you can’t deny you can see faces in them too. That you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

  “What do you want to do?” said Dez. “You can't write about Flynn in his own paper.”

  “It wouldn't hurt to have the kids snoop about Munson, though, would it?” Mike smiled.

  “We could go,” said Dez.

  “They know our faces,” said Mike. “In fact, they are actively looking for both of us. Do we have any tech-savvy kids up there?”

  “A few,” said Dez. “There's a kid with gaps in his teeth that's always fiddling with watches and shit. Girl from last night is a hacker from back in the day. Not that one can do that anymore.”

  “Get the gap-toothed kid,” said Mike. “Tell him he's in charge of the printing press now.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I'm going to write some stories,” said Mike. He was almost hopping off the ground, rocking on the balls of his feet he was so excited. “You're going to make sure these papers get made.”

  In comparing notes with Dez about the events of his last night as a Mover, Mike put together a narrative that started with Dez finding Sia under the tree, leading to Mike mentioning Sia in his story and being summoned to meet with three Revs, killed by Joshua Flynn in The Post building.

  “There were three Revs in the newspaper office,” Mike concluded. “And they carried out three trees, right? After Flynn went in looking like a goddamn monster. Is that a coincidence?”

  “Mike, come on, man. I mean, we don't want to get tangled up in this shit.” Dez was backing away from Mike.

  “Why not?” said Mike. “What the hell else are we going to do? Stay stuck in this house eating hummus with a bunch of throwbacks?”

  “If it keeps us alive? Hell yes,” said Dez.

  “Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do,” Mike said, a hot ball of energy flaming up in his stomach. “I'm going to tell the truth. I'm going to make sure everyone everywhere knows exactly what's going on. I'm going to do it so well, that no one is going to be able to deny what's going on. And I'm going to make people give a shit again. The Revs aren't killing us anymore, I don't even know if they still can kill us. They've changed, everyone can see it. But we're so damn afraid that no one can see it clearly.”

  “See what clearly?” Dez said. His voice was weak, tired. Scared. “They're not stronger than we are anymore,” said Mike. “We can stop all this. Joshua Flynn can stop all this. We can get our lives back again, Paine!”

  “This is crazy, Mike,” said Dez. “You're going to get us killed.”

  “Is that any worse than how we've been living?”

  “Why do you think siding with Flynn is going to be any better than your garden variety Revs?” said Dez. “They're all the same, Mike. You said it yourself. He killed Deacon. He has a…what did you call it? Bloodface. Just like they used to. But here's the thing: he's killing his own kind. What in the holy hell makes you think he's not going to just pick up where his cousins left off?”

  “But he's only one,” said Mike. “It's not the Revs people are afraid of, it's how many there are, and how organized they are. The Movers, the experimental hospital, the blood days. What we fear is the entire machinery of their bureaucracy. Their orderly paperwork, with all the humans helping them every step of the way. We fear them only because we don't think we can defeat them.”

  “So?” said Dez. “How is Flynn any different?”

  Mike squinted at Dez. “He strike you as organized? He killed Deacon simply because he was rude in the meeting. One word and the poor bastard was dead. Flynn acts on impulse, and he's leaving a trail of death.”

  “He's got you writing a newspaper,” said Dez. “He's got the Revs scared. Assuming fear is even possible for them.”

  “Oh, it's possible,” said Mike. “Or else they wouldn't be hauling people off in the middle
of the night. They wouldn't have hobbled us by disappearing the children, way back in the beginning. They're afraid and they're weak.”

  “They don't look weak.”

  “So what exactly did you think you'd be doing out here, Dez?” said Mike. “Petting kittens and raising chickens?”

  Dez sat down in the chair and glared up at Mike.

  “You're a right bastard, Mike.”

  “So are you, Dez.”

  Twelve

  Viv froze at the knock on her door. They’d finally come for her. They knew what she was doing and now it was all over. Just like Hunter. Just like her baby. Just like him, she would never come back. Her throat froze and for a moment she couldn't swallow. The knock came again, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

  The Revs didn't knock. If the Movers came to get her, they wouldn't be knocking at her door. They'd kick it down and carry her out, probably bloody and screaming. Or fast asleep on tranquilizers.

  “Who is it?” she finally said. She realized she was standing in the middle of the living room, shaking like a leaf. She glanced towards the kitchen to make sure everything was covered, then quickly placed herself in a chair and grabbed a nearby book.

  “It's Tom from next door,” came a muffled voice.

  Viv relaxed. Tom had been very nice when he moved in. She had helped him carry his boxes up after the Revs took his house. He’d invited her over for coffee after, but she’d politely declined as she had to dash to work. The tenant before Tom had been a good friend and it made her sad to see the rooms cleared out. Nothing of him remained after the Movers came in the middle of the night.

  She opened the door and smiled. Tom's hair was graying at the temples and was in great need of a trim, and his beard had seemed to gone to a primal stage since the last time she had seen him. But under all the scruff he was still an attractive man. He smiled at her and she relaxed, the tension going out of her shoulders. Tom was harmless.