October Rain

by Morgan, Dylan J.

  One of the most common rumors proclaimed the monstrosity to be some form of mutant; a crazed half-beast produced as the result of a failed government experiment. I’d never believed the stories, but many claimed the thing had been put to work as a sentinel in the mines to deter criminals from trying to escape. Gossip had it no one unfortunate enough to see the mutant ever lived to tell about it.

  I backed up a step. The cacophony grew louder, the creature’s arrival imminent. Indecision clogged my mind; I couldn’t decipher whether the mutant charged up the left fork of the tunnel, or the right. I swallowed hard, realizing it didn’t matter, really. If I took the one the creature occupied I’d run headlong into it; if I chose the other tunnel the thing would sniff me out and come for me anyway. I wondered if the government had known all along where Pierce had hidden out, and if this last big mission was just a cruel way of testing my credentials.

  Forcing that distracting thought from my mind I took another step backwards.

  Three rhythmical thuds resonated up the cavern.

  The mutant issued a grunt, a deep sound that hid none of its fury and bloodlust.

  The stench grew thicker, as if it came from the creature’s own breath. Monstrous feet slapped against the dust-coated floor. An arm slammed into the ragged wall of the tunnel in which I stood, and fragments of shattered stone hit my shirt. The walls reverberated at my sides.

  I squeezed the trigger.

  My Gibson and Marx roared into life. Exploding gunshots bounced off the walls, sending agonized jolts of pain ripping through my ear canals. Muzzle-flash illuminated the mutant’s pale skin, its flesh mottled with scabs. In the flare of gun discharge I watched red punctures appear on its chest and along its left shoulder, jets of blood spurting from the entry wounds as my bullets gouged through its body. A thick forearm caught me in the chest and lifted me off my feet. My head smashed into the tunnel’s ceiling, and my finger slipped off the trigger, silencing my weapon. Stars billowed in my darkened vision. My heels hit the ground first, and then my rump and shoulders slid along the rough stone. Skin scraped from my body. My skull struck a solid outcrop of rock, and unconsciousness rushed in. I struggled to hold it at bay. The mutant howled in the dark; frenzied cries of pain and anger.

  The ground shook as the creature flailed up the tunnel. I squeezed the trigger once more. The blow I’d taken must have weakened me, as my Gibson and Marx bucked wildly in my one-handed grasp. Bullets ricocheted off the cavern, and the abomination screamed again.

  It charged towards me.

  My magazine clicked empty, and the gun’s self-cooling system produced a subtle hiss. I snapped back the lever and the empty magazine fell into my lap. I fished another magazine from the belt at my waist as the mutant’s heavy feet thudded on either side of me.

  I didn’t see its thick forearm swinging through the hot air towards my chest—but I sensed it. Rolling to my right, onto my shoulder, rock shattered where my torso had been. The knuckles of its clenched fist connected painfully against my back, and stone fragments bounced off my body.

  I slammed the magazine into place.

  As if in frustration, the creature bellowed with the force of a Martian thunderstorm as it raised its fist for another swing. Putrid spittle coated my cheeks, fetid breath assailing my nostrils. I rolled onto my back again and opened fire.

  Gunpowder exploded, highlighting the mutant’s close-set eyes as they widened in pain and surprise. The first few rounds tore through its chest and out the other side. Above the roar of gunfire I heard bullets drilling into the thermal rocks of the tunnel’s ceiling.

  Redirecting my aim, I emptied the magazine into the mutant’s throat and head.

  Skull fragments and splintered rock showered the tunnel floor. Blood sprayed me in warm jets. The mutant’s head disintegrated under the onslaught of the Gibson and Marx, and its body crashed onto the ragged floor.

  Stillness flooded the cavern, broken only by the whisper of air from my weapon’s cooling mechanism.

  In all my years of doing this dirty, violent job I’d never been so close to death. I sighed—a breath filled with hot air and the stench of a deceased mutant—and closed my eyes. Kari and Shauna stood in the blackness of my vision, their faces twisted in grief, crying over my shattered memory.

  I couldn’t fail this mission now, not so close to our new life.

  Pulling my left leg from under the mutant’s corpse, I sat upright, disposed of the spent magazine, and grabbed another from my belt. It was the last, so I needed to use it carefully. Running out of ammunition while still in this district would be catastrophic. I slid the magazine into place, got to my feet, and then staggered down the tunnel towards my destination. At the junction, I took the right fork and continued my blind passage. The gunfire had probably alerted Pierce to my arrival, so all surprise would be lost.

  This could get uglier than I’d imagined.

  After twenty-five paces I saw a faint light at the end of the tunnel. Gripping the gun with both hands, I flipped it to single-fire mode, swallowed, and then edged myself into the cave. The cavern surprised me: larger than expected and stranger than I could ever have imagined.

  Small bulbs fixed to cables on the floor flooded the room with mellow lighting, and a metal causeway ran the length of the cave on cylindrical stone props erected two feet above the floor. Numerous large, steel tubes stood on either side of the walkway, perhaps three rows deep. Smooth, polished flasks reflected the other cylinders in their skin like a hall of mirrors.

  Moving through the room, surrounded by images of myself, I glanced at some of the plaques bolted to each container and saw names: first, middle, and last; a location under each one that surely belonged to a place on long dead Earth; below that a date so distant in the past I scarcely believed such a time could have existed. Each inscription was different, and the information left me with a sense of discomfort. What other kind of junk had my ancestors brought with them from Earth, then secretly stored beneath the city?

  My footsteps echoed around me, bouncing off the curved structures in the room. The cavern’s hot air cut through gaps in my clothes, the grotto probably constructed close to one of Olympus Mons’ lava vents. A new aroma, this one oddly similar to the smell of wet skin, assaulted my nostrils.

  Feeling like a general inspecting an army of tall, shiny troops, I looked left and right, seeing nothing but a warped reflection of myself on the curved tubes. The rows to my right spread down to the farthest wall, covering the entire length of the cave. To my left they ended about one hundred yards ahead, and the rock opened into a sort of laboratory.

  Nearing the lab, the whole scene morphed into something far more disturbing.

  Wires trailed from the yawning apertures of open cylinders and ice crystals gleamed under the soft lighting. One of the open flasks still contained its occupant. The thawing body leaned forward at the waist, the man’s expression etched with the pained loneliness he must have felt the moment he died.

  I looked at his motionless face for a moment, and wondered what kind of sick, macabre research this government carried out under the guise of exploration and progression: the very government that swore to protect this city and its inhabitants. The very government that promised to create a bright future for mankind, yet failed daily to live up to those promises. The very government that paid my wages.

  It seemed Pierce worked for them too, and that was the biggest betrayal of all. I couldn’t wait for my last chore dictated by Mars’ heartless regime to be completed. Shaking my head in silent frustration, I walked on.

  Erected on either side of the lab’s entrance, a pair of steel columns served a horrifying purpose.

  A man was bound to the left-hand support with heavy shackles securing his wrists and ankles. Angry bruises mottled his naked skin, and red needle marks swathed his feeble arms. A metal mask covered his lower face, and tubes extended to what appeared to be oxygen bottles fixed above the pilaster. Flaccid lids hung like leathery curtains over eyel
ess sockets. The man sniffed the stale air as if my scent, foreign amongst the others in the room, stirred his senses.

  A woman on the right-hand post also had her limbs clasped tight and blood seeped from one of her wrists. She too was naked, her body blemished like the man’s. Mumbling into the mask covering her face, her eyes widened when she saw me.

  She pleaded for assistance, but I had none to offer.

  I stepped into the laboratory.

  It didn’t look hi-tech. A bank of aged computers labored through information with the combined rumble of both inadequate CPU’s and overworked fans. Electrical and communication cables were draped over the top of monitors to keep them clear of the counter. Jugs and beakers littered the work surfaces. Some contained liquids, yet others held discolored mold. Empty plastic cups and junk food wrappers spread over papers and folders scattered on desks.

  The dark body of a handgun protruded from its poorly concealed holster beneath one of the benches. A man stood with his back to me, stooped forward in working concentration, oblivious to my arrival. I countered the rush of adrenalin with a drawn-out intake of breath, and then relaxed as I exhaled.

  Even with his back to me I knew who the man was.

  “Hey, Pierce.”

  EIGHT

  In what would probably be the final era of man’s decline, identical twins had become an extreme rarity. Some said mankind evolved to become more individual, others claimed scientific breakthroughs over the millennia minimized the possibility of it happening. As for me, I didn’t give a shit either way—I just wished I wasn’t a twin.

  Pierce looked like me in every conceivable way. We both stood an inch over six feet, our hair the same darkened hue and pushed to the right in a similar style. We both clenched square, clean-shaven jaws in hard-set determination, like a pair of galactic outlaws preparing for the final showdown. Our lips had the same lean profile, noses defined but not oversized. His engaging eyes resembled mine, irises a striking azure hue, yet tonight they seemed devoid of life: jaded and ailing, as if too much time spent working in a dark cave drained them of their vivacity.

  After almost seven Martian years, we still looked identical, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if I was standing in front of one of those polished cryonic canisters staring at my own reflection.

  Yet in spite of our likeness, regardless of our lineage, I despised him; certainly the feeling was mutual.

  Born first by a full two minutes, Pierce never played the protective older brother. My earliest memory of our time together on Titan was me hanging by my fingertips from the domed roof of our father’s farmhouse, a ten foot drop beneath my flailing legs. We’d climbed onto the roof as part of a stupid game and I’d called to my brother for help. Pierce shimmied over, took my wrists, and when I loosened my grip, he let me go and laughed as I dropped like a stone.

  It hadn’t stopped there. There’d been the time he’d given me a glass of red liquid, insisting it was juice, and then sniggered as I downed our father’s homebrew before vomiting over the kitchen floor. The one-way verbal cruelty, the teasing and embarrassing pranks, had always been a part of our relationship, but the pinching and slapping became more regular as we got older.

  It all changed when a schoolyard thug hit me in the face. I’d gone to Pierce and explained what happened, hoping he’d sort the bully out. Yet all he said was, ‘What, like this?’, and punched me in the eye. Then the real beatings started, violent abuse that had me cowered in a corner with my legs drawn to my chest and head buried in my arms. He’d never been able to control his emotions, not like me. It was the only difference between us, a non-physical quality which made me superior to him despite the punishment I took.

  Our father walked in one day, as Pierce pulled me around the room by my hair while landing blows to my skull and shoulders, slamming his fist into the exposed nape of my neck. Dad tried to intervene, but Pierce just beat him up. Though never a physical man, our father possessed the natural authority of a leader, and within three hours of the beating Dad held counsel and banished my brother.

  Hoping I’d never see him again, a strange concoction of fear and anticipation had surfaced when his name appeared on the government register. His current capacity—a lone man conducting experiments in a poorly lit cavern—didn’t make him seem much of a threat to the government. Why Pierce’s name made the list was information I didn’t need to know, but it probably had something to do with illicit research on resurrected people.

  He spoke first. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “I bet you have.”

  I didn’t trust my surroundings and backed against one of the pillars, negating the possibility of a surprise attack from behind. On the other side of the column the woman moaned into her mask.

  “No, really, I have,” Pierce said. “How long’s it been?”

  “Not long enough.”

  He smiled. “How’s things?”

  I almost told him. It’s funny how hatred flows through every family but the current is sustained by a love that will never dissipate, not even after a lifetime of torture. My loathing of him failed to hide the sibling emotion I hoped would remain dormant.

  Determined to stay focused, I squared my shoulders.

  “This isn’t a social call.”

  “Such a shame,” he said, “business visits can be so boring.”

  “It ain’t business either.”

  “I see you got past the welcoming committee.”

  “Those freaks up in the district—do they work for you?”

  “Oh no, they’re much too unruly; they just keep the looters away.”

  “And what about the mutant? Was that thing guarding this place?”

  “Yes, it does protect this room’s valuable contents.”

  I smiled. “Not anymore.”

  “That’s a shame. Once that uncouth horde on the surface learns about that they’ll be the ones doing the looting.” Pierce stepped to his right, a hand sliding across the untidy work surface. His fingers curled over the counter’s edge, searching contact with the firearm.

  I raised my gun.

  “No, wait!” He held out a defensive hand. “You’d rather kill me quickly than see me rot in jail?”

  He tried to buy time with stupid questions.

  The newly-built prison cells in Olympia are small, cramped rooms extended from the city’s foundations. Vents in the ceilings allow the daytime sun to scorch skin, and night time’s steaming rain to boil flesh.

  “Jail sounds tempting,” I said. “But I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “You know, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “It’s the only way it can be.”

  “Please, just listen.”

  I resisted squeezing the trigger.

  “Our research is making real progress down here,” he said.

  By our, I wasn’t sure if Pierce meant him along with Hawkes and their sidekick Preston, or the corrupt government. If it turned out to be the latter, surprise would be the last emotion I’d feel.

  He continued, “We can sort out our differences, you and me, start afresh. I can prolong your life, give you a second chance.”

  “You mean like Adam and Eve out there,” I said, directing a nod towards the man and woman chained to the pillars.

  “It’s not much of a chance, I’ll agree, but they have had a rebirth, of sorts.”

  Pierce’s smile contained little remorse. A brief pause, the void filled by the woman’s panicked sobs and the silent ticking of the mental clock inside my head that told me time raced away. My finger tightened on the trigger.

  Curiosity bettered me. “Just what kind of work are you doing here?”

  “Oh this is the future, the real future. This work will strengthen mankind, it’ll resist our extinction. We’re building man, not in God’s image, but in our own.” His smile broadened. “Do you want to know a secret? We’re the same, you and me.”

  Air exhaled from my nose in a mocking laugh. “We have nothing in c
ommon.”

  “Oh, I think we do. We’re exactly alike—identical.”

  My hardened expression diminished. Mom used to say the same: ‘You boys are exactly alike—identical’.

  Seizing a sliver of an opportunity, Pierce reached for his weapon. The gunshot exploded in the tiny laboratory, its blast echoing in all directions within the room. Pierce’s abdomen opened with a surging wave of blood. Upon exit, the bullet shattered a computer monitor and sent sparks corkscrewing upwards. Shock distorted his face and he clasped both hands to his stomach as if trying to hold his intestines in place. He staggered backwards a step, hit the workbench, and sank to the floor.

  What a fucking ridiculous thing to say. How could we possibly be the same? I accepted we looked alike, but that’s as far as it went.

  Pierce had never been a real man, but remained the tormenting adolescent I had the misfortune of growing up with. He used violence to solve everything—and, it seemed, used cold-hearted brutality in his working life. I doubted he had a family or anyone who cared for him, because he cared for no one but himself.

  The hole in his belly was long overdue.

  “You bastard.” My words were soft, directed at Pierce. Repeating myself, I paced the room like a boxer waiting for his opponent to climb from the canvas.

  I’m a bounty hunter who exterminates criminals and those whose misdeeds have made their lives worthless. I’m not a saint, but I rid this city of its sinners. My life extends beyond that however: Kari, the woman of my dreams, and Shauna, the most beautiful little girl in the vastness of space. I have meaning and a purpose in this fading world and refuse to have any connection with the shuddering piece of shit lying on the laboratory floor. Pierce’s complexion paled. Blood pooled around his body, not from the puncture to his abdomen, but from the large exit wound in his back. His hands gripped his belly, body trembling as if he were freezing. He coughed, breathing a gurgled wheeze as blood filled his open mouth. I hoped it hurt like hell.