Division Zero

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Division Zero Page 3

by Matthew S. Cox


  She advanced to a run.

  A Division 1 officer would have fired. Why else force a guy to take a pot shot at the cops and run in here? He wanted me to kill him in this place. Great… he’s a damn soul collector.

  From up ahead she could hear the timbre of a man’s voice mangled by damage or mental defect. He repeated ‘Please help me’ with erratic tics, like a sound bite on repeat.

  Kirsten crossed to the other side of the hallway and put her sidearm away. Unlike bullets, a laser had some effect on paranormal beings, but her talents worked better than any laser could hope to―and the lash could not harm the living.

  Within a dark and crumbling room littered with cracked tiles and broken glass from numerous light bulbs, she found one of the Division 1 officers. Huddled in the corner, he battled with flailing buckles and straps from a straitjacket wrapped about a massive man in a hospital gown. The obese ghost forced his weight into the officer, pinning him to a dented and rusty radiator in a vain attempt to grab him with bound arms. Only a floating straitjacket reflected in the officer’s visor.

  The smashed face undulated as he kept repeating the plea. She felt no malice, though the cop feared for his life. He caught sight of Kirsten in the doorway and his panic lessened. She could not tell if he recognized her Division 0 uniform and knew she could deal with this, or if he just wanted to man-up in front of a woman.

  “Get it the fuck off me!” His attempt to sound courageous failed.

  Kirsten held her hand out after spotting a name on a decaying chart. “He cannot help you, Artie. He can’t even see you.”

  The figure’s head turned. A loose flap of skin, his mauled cheek, dragged over the cop’s shoulder and fell flat against the giant’s chest. Artie’s one remaining eye fixed her with a stare. As the straps went limp, the cop rolled away into a tactical stance, and backed away with one hand on his sidearm. He gave her the briefest of sideways glances and ran out the door, vanishing before Kirsten could say a word.

  Must have been the uniform.

  Obese to supernatural proportion, Artie towered over her. At five-foot-five, looking up at men felt normal, but this one was a whole other level of huge. She exhaled, trying to gauge what he would do. Oh, please be a nice guy. With the hope of him being a gentle giant begging for help, she stood her ground and offered her most innocent smile.

  “Easy…” She spoke in a soft voice, holding up her hands. “I am here to help you. Can you tell me where the doctor is?”

  At the mention of the word doctor, the hulk whined and shambled away into the corner like a scared boy. Her mounting dread faded in an instant to concern. She approached within a step of the whimpering spirit.

  “Artie, he won’t hurt you anymore, not when I get done with him.”

  Her confidence stalled his trembles. He pointed to the wall with his elbow and muttered an incoherent series of words, mangled by his condition as well as his wounds. Telepathy required a living brain, but she could infer his meaning.

  “Wait here, Artie.”

  A female shriek grabbed her attention from the corridor and she sprinted toward it. She weaved through the cluttered halls of the hospital until her rubberized boots squealed as she came to a halt in front of a door labeled ‘Therapy Room 1’.

  Fused into an immobile mass, the knob did not turn. On her toes, she peeked through a small, square window reinforced with wires. Inside, the other patrol officer struggled on a metal table, held down by thick padded straps. A dozen medical instruments stuck out of her dull blue armor. Electrodes hovered around in a futile search for a patch of tender exposed flesh. The doctor loomed, snapping his gaze to Kirsten as soon as he sensed her watching.

  Kirsten focused, trying to overpower him. Her thoughts reached out, sensing the energy swirling through the door like a gelatinous mass keeping it sealed. She threaded tendrils of psionic power through the substance, tightened her grip, and tugged. Their wills clashed. An incredible amount of force drew inward against the door; no matter how hard she strained, it snapped back into place.

  A wail from the trapped officer gave her more strength. Kirsten growled through clenched teeth; it felt as though she tried to peel heavy molasses away from the wall. She gained the upper hand, and the force began to slip. A sudden clatter arose as small metal objects fell to the ground on the other side. The doctor focused everything he had at the door. Seconds later, a powerful blast knocked her away with a flash of dull, throbbing pain.

  Staggering, Kirsten put her hand on the side of her face. The forceful mental slap left her head spinning. The terror of the woman inside fed him. Kirsten flung herself against the door and pounded.

  “Officer, I need you to calm down. Your fear is making him stronger.”

  “Calm?” The woman struggled against the straps. “How fuckin’ calm would you be in here?” The rest of whatever she tried to say degenerated into a panicked scream.

  “Look. None of those old tools can get through your armor. Control yourself.” Kirsten punted the door for emphasis.

  The officer’s voice faltered one step below a shriek. “I’m seeing freaky shit on the walls and tools floatin’ around. This dude… I shot him six months ago.”

  “Tune it out, ignore it. There is a ghost in there trying to make you scared; none of it is real.”

  The sound of the woman’s breathing rasped through the still air, amplified by her helmet’s loudspeaker. Leather creaked against a metal frame. Screaming started in time with the high-pitched whine of a small powered saw.

  Kirsten sighed, letting her head hit the door out of frustration. She took a step back and drew her E90.

  It’s not mystical but this just might work.

  Three shots, one to the lock and two to the hinges, sent molten metal spraying as the energy beams made short work of the steel. The door blurred into the room, bending around the legs of the surgical table with a deafening clang that knocked the trapped officer around in the straps.

  Kirsten locked eyes with the mad doctor. He froze; the whirring saw held an inch from the woman’s transparent faceplate. The leather straps writhed like serpents into the air.

  She gathered herself for another lash, but the doctor darted through the wall and vanished before she could release it. The saw bounced off the helmet and fell to the ground, no longer running. The power cable ended with a fray of wire instead of a plug. The sight of the impossibly running saw sent a shiver through the woman on the table.

  “What the fuck? It ain’t even plugged in.” The cop writhed.

  Kirsten ran to her side and tugged at the restraints. “Are you okay?”

  No amount of fighting moved them for a minute, until the energy that turned them to iron faded. The officer tore her way loose and lifted the visor of her helmet.

  “Never in my life did I think I’d be happy to see one of you Zero spooks.”

  Kirsten helped her up, sulking. “We’re just like any other cop; no one’s happy to see us until they need us.”

  The patrol officer offered a guilty smile and an extended hand. “Yeah, you got that right. Sorry, Reya Menendez.”

  The handshake became a hug. “Kirsten Wren.”

  “Do me a favor? Don’t tell anyone I was screaming like a little bitch.” Officer Menendez looked down. “I was seeing crap in the walls from the street; right out of my nightmares.”

  “Yeah…” Kirsten broke eye contact. “Me too. It’s what he does. I won’t breathe a word. You good to make it out of here?”

  Reya took a few quick breaths and her cop-presence returned. “I think so. What in the fuck was that? You gonna be okay alone?”

  “A ghost, my guess is he used to be a doctor.” Kirsten relayed her opinion about the mechanic and asked her to make sure they treated him as a victim. “The ghost made him shoot at you. Thanks, I appreciate it… There’s nothing you can do to hurt him. Go on, get outta here. Stay safe.”

  After what had already happened to her, Reya offered little protest.

  Ki
rsten watched Reya jog to the stairway. At least I got them both out of here alive. One thing left to do. She jogged to the end of the hall, pausing for an instant at a fancy door tucked into an alcove.

  Trappings of numerous faiths decorated the chapel. She did not recognize the iconography of most of them, nor did she care to. After what Mother had done to her in the name of God, she paid little heed to religion. She had peered too deep into the other side to believe in man-made stories. She knew the Abyss existed and something else opposed it―a lighter energy that defied exact definition.

  She advanced through the dusty air, walking on tiptoe to prevent the creaking floor from giving way beneath her. Shifting colors shimmered along the walls from fading stained glass windows, sending frightening shadows dancing through the edges of her sight. Kirsten executed a tactical entry in all ways except for the lack of a readied weapon. Captain Eze would be upset if he saw this, but she did not trust her weapon as much as her gifts.

  A heavy scrape drew her eyes to the right. The ancient mace she had been expecting, solid and real, dragged itself out of an explosion of dust and flew at her from a table in the back. She ducked and one of its many spikes lodged into a support beam.

  The ghostly doctor filled in around it, tugging to get it loose. His effort to force himself to remain invisible to her lapsed; he used too much energy to free his weapon from the wall. Kirsten drew a deep breath, watching him struggle. Images of twitching, mangled bodies ran through her mind. Helpless people murdered in their beds. People that once trusted him, now trapped here for eternity by his malice. The Doctor’s gaze held fear and hatred, she sensed not a whiff of remorse.

  “I usually give souls a chance to redeem themselves, but after what you did to these defenseless people, I don’t think there’s anything left in there to save.”

  Thoughts of his victims focused emotion through her power. The wisp of energy appeared in her hand, so pure white it appeared blue. Coiling it sideways, she snapped it through the doctor like a whip.

  The ghost roared with rage and desperation. Tangling with someone not only able to defend against him, but with a distinct advantage, infuriated him. He vanished and reappeared next to her. Turning, she braced her mind to resist what she expected to be an attempt at possession.

  She did not notice the mace fly free of the wall of its own accord and sail into her. While short of a full swing, the impact remained severe enough to knock her off her feet and send her careening into one of the decaying pews. Her body flipped over it as her boots took out a table full of votive candles, knocking them to the ground where they shattered into a wash of glass and wax fragments.

  The mace floated back into the doctor’s grip, and he pounced. Holding the weapon over his head in both hands, he brought it down with a manic cackle. The blood of dozens caked the spiked horror, and he sought to add hers to his collection.

  Kirsten raised her hands as her eyes glowed white. She stalled him in his tracks by sheer force of will. Her arms shuddered with the effort against a phantom stronger than any she had yet encountered. He strained against her power, trying to step toward her, but she shoved him back even though it changed her exhaustion into pain. This type of wraith fed from fear, he had little idea how to contend with her utter lack of it.

  He roared, fury burning in his eyes, straining to advance.

  Kirsten slid to her feet, back against the wall, muscles throbbing from of the battle of wills. She dropped her resistance without warning, rolling to the side. Caught off guard, the doctor lurched forward and smashed a hole through the wooden floorboards.

  Before he could recover his balance, Kirsten struck out with another swipe of the astral whip. The energy stream pulled taut as it meshed with his ethereal form. The shimmering ribbon knocked the doctor to his knees, eliciting a supernatural wail of agony.

  That one hurt.

  Another like that and it’s game over. Damn, I hope I have enough left. She leaned, panting, against the wall and wiped a nosebleed with the back of her hand. I have to stop him; he has to leave this world. He does not belong here.

  The doctor lurched to his feet. The fury in his glare had melted to terror, but not of Kirsten. He retreated to the door but stalled in the center of the room, looking over his shoulder. His eyes darted, sensing something’s approach.

  Kirsten sensed it too. The ambiance changed within a second; the neutral chapel felt grim and foreboding, as if doom itself had arrived. Shadows thickened and rapid whispers filled the air as darkness seeped into the edges of the room. Black ether oozed through the walls, forming patches before streaking down in thin lines into puddles on the ground.

  She smacked him with a feeble lash while he was distracted, but her fatigue turned it into a limp strike that fell short of destroying his essence. The whispering intensified as the soul collector weakened further. Smoky humanoid shapes rose out of puddles on the ground, shadows cast by people that did not exist. Here and there, pale glinting spots appeared like eyes amid the black, and the outline of shadowy claws danced upon the walls.

  She backed away, knowing what approached. Things had been set in motion she dared not interfere with. He spun in place, looking with desperation for any patch of wall not covered in dusk. One of the shadow forms lurched forward, passing just behind him. The doctor yelled as he spun to face it. A second one passed him, making him turn back, and a third, and then another and another until he whirled in a horrified dance.

  A dozen emerged from all over the room at once, swarming and engulfing him under a blanket of night. One gloomy hand reached out of the writhing mass, covering his face. With a cry of agony, the pile of Harbingers dragged the doctor down through the floor.

  Silence.

  Kirsten stood motionless, staring at the ground where the ghost had vanished until the mood in the room returned to normal. She sank into a squat, trembling hands clutched over her chest.

  Those creatures were not to be trifled with.

  After catching her breath, she recovered her composure and went out through the empty corridors of the old Saguaro Mental Hospital. Flashes of silver light glimmered in room after room behind her, accompanied by the sense of dread lifting from this place.

  Kirsten smiled to herself as she walked among the transcendent light toward the exit.

  ncessant beeping picked at the edges of Kirsten’s consciousness until the alarm clock dragged her back to the world of the dawn. She raised her arms over her head and stretched under the covers, squinting at the slices of morning leaking through the blinds of her apartment’s lone window. The comforgel slab in which her body lay embedded had been on the fritz for months. No longer calibrated for temperature, it left her over-warm and far from comfortable.

  She flung the covers off, letting the cool air wash over her. Sleeping in a short shirt and panties had embarrassed her at first, but the pajamas she so adored left her miserably warm. It presented a question of lesser evils; risk a peeping ghost or lie awake in a puddle of sweat. Standing today proved to be another matter entirely; breathing still hurt. Despite the use of two stimpaks, a line of bruise remained across her ribs where the mace had caught her. She rubbed it with a wince and let out a sigh, wondering why these things always hurt so much more the day afterward.

  At least I finally got to sleep without that dream.

  After peeling herself out of the Kirsten-shaped hollow in the mattress, she kicked her legs over the side and slumped forward. She braced her ribs with her arm and took a few painful breaths. As her imprint in the comforgel faded, she tuned out the wretched electronic cacophony responsible for her being awake. Her eyes struggled to make sense of the blurry mass in front of her that focused into her toes. After a year, she still could not get used to having to wake up at six a.m. Mornings had felt much easier when she lived in the Division 0 dorm; the commute had been quick, just a walk down a hallway.

  A trace of the Synvod she used to chase away the asylum remained in a glass on the nightstand. The scent kicked he
r in the stomach and the taste of it bubbled to the back of her mouth.

  After silencing the alarm, she went into her tiny bathroom. Satisfied by the empty room, she pushed the door closed and held her hand out with her palm against the silvery steel. Faint traces of white light coalesced around the door and slid along the walls until the entire area shone, awash with illumination. Her eyes opened when she finished concentrating, and the glow receded into the walls. Despite the absence of visual effect, she felt safe and secure.

  She stepped into the shower tube after dropping her clothes in a heap on the small blue rug. The cylindrical door slid closed behind her without a noise. She examined her reflection in the tube wall, checking on a few small bruises lingering here and there, paying particular attention to one on her shin. The stimpaks had done a decent job of shrinking them to a point where they would be gone within a day or two. Bending down proved to be unwise. The Synvod churned in her stomach, traces of it burbled back into her mouth.

  Turning away from her reflection, she spat into the drain and poked at the control console to start the machine whirring. A groan came out of her as warm soapy water filled the tube. Her muscles relaxed under the gyrating pressure of the rotating jets. Basking in the sense of it, her mind wandered.

  Will I ever find a guy that doesn’t run away screaming?

  So far, the ones that stayed longer than a minute after finding out wanted little more than getting into her pants. Some would call it unethical to peek into their brains, but she would rather cheat the rules a little bit than be hurt. She let her forehead touch the wall, feeling for a moment like a hypocrite for snapping at Nicole for doing the same thing. The autoshower shuddered to a halt. The spray ring whirred its way back into the ceiling and locked, seconds before a tornado of hot air sucked her hair vertical.

 

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