Landfall (The Reach, Book 2)

by Mark R. Healy

  “Did they start hurting people?”

  “I think so. One of them, he had a knife. Malcus always told me to run from people with a knife.”

  “Who’s Malcus?”

  “A man.”

  “Your father?”

  The kid shook his head. He leaned over and rummaged through a jumbled pile of twisted plastic, pulling out part of what looked like a toy dinosaur.

  “I’ll make you a creature if you don’t hurt me,” the boy offered suddenly.

  Knile frowned and shook his head. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The fingers of light appeared from above again, snaking down the wall and falling across the two of them and mingling with the glow of the flashlight.

  “What is that?” Knile said, looking about in confusion.

  “A machine,” the boy said simply as the glow disappeared again. “Up above. It turns round and around.” He made a circular motion with his hand. “Sometimes it lets the light through and I can see.”

  “What have you been eating?”

  The boy ignored him and pulled something from one of the plastic bags at his feet.

  “Wanna see my creatures?” he said, the dullness in his eyes suddenly imbued with a spark of life.

  Knile glanced back to where he had come and, hearing no sign of the Enforcers, he shrugged.

  “Sure.”

  The boy produced a mangled piece of wood and plastic. It appeared to be a green, muscle-bound torso of an action figure with a small, slanted off-cut of timber glued on as the head.

  “This one is called Blockhead,” the boy said, placing it carefully on the floor. He looked up expectantly at Knile.

  “Uh, okay.”

  The boy rummaged in the bag again and placed another Frankenstein creation next to the first, a three-legged horse figurine with the head of a man.

  “This is his brother, Blockhead Two.”

  Knile offered him a little smile. “Brothers, huh?”

  The boy nodded and continued on, displaying a third creation that had the body of a robot and a plastic carrot for a head.

  “This one is–”

  “Blockhead Three?” Knile said.

  “No, this one is called Carrotty.”

  “Of course.” Knile gave a little chuckle. “Where did you find these, kid?”

  “I took the pieces from the grumpy man’s workshop. He fixes toys.”

  “Who’s the grumpy man?”

  The kid pointed vaguely. “The man down the road. He doesn’t like me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t like me taking his stuff.”

  “Well, no wonder he’s grumpy at you.”

  “And glue.” The boy searched around himself, thrashing away at several bags, then held up a bottle with yellowish residue streaked on its sides. He shook it eagerly. “See?”

  “Maybe you should stay away from the grumpy man if–”

  “Do you want to make a creature?” the boy said. He seemed to be coming out of his shell now that he had ascertained that Knile wasn’t there to hurt him.

  “I really shouldn’t, I have to get going–”

  “It doesn’t take long. I can teach you.”

  Knile sighed. The boy was staring at him with such fervour that he couldn’t help but give in.

  “Okay, let me have a look.”

  The boy smiled, pushing the pile of broken toy parts toward him. He got up on his knees and perched over the pieces in anticipation of seeing what his visitor would do. Knile pushed forward, running his hands over the parts as he sought the appropriate pieces.

  “Okay, how about this car?” he began, but the boy snatched it back from him and threw it back in the pile.

  “No, not that one.”

  “The rabbit?” he said, picking up another, but the boy took that back as well.

  “Here, the dinosaur,” the boy said, holding up the body of a scaly green T-Rex.

  “Good,” Knile said, taking it from him. “And let’s add a–”

  “A robot!” the boy said, offering him a squarish plastic head with big yellow eyes.

  Knile flinched as the toy was eagerly thrust at his face.

  “Sure.”

  The boy located the glue again, then reached out and grabbed the toys back from Knile, in a rush to get things moving.

  “Now we pull this off,” the boy said, uncapping the glue, “then smoosh this on here.” He applied the glue liberally to the dinosaur’s neck in a swirling pattern. “Then add the robot.” He placed the head in the appropriate position, wiggling it back and forth until it balanced. “There, you did it!” he exclaimed, holding up the finished product.

  “Yeah, I’m a natural.”

  The boy placed the new creature next to the others, positioning it carefully in line.

  “You have to wait for the glue to stick,” he said. “Don’t touch it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “What are you going to call him?”

  “Uh…”

  “He’s called Dinosaur Robot, isn’t he?” the boy said.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The boy leaned down to cast a careful eye over the array of monstrosities, edging them carefully until they were aligned perfectly. Once happy, he straightened again with an expectant look on his face.

  “Do you want to make another one?”

  Knile glanced back out toward the factory.

  “Look, kid, I have to go. I have to keep moving.”

  The boy slumped back, visibly disappointed.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “But you can’t take Dinosaur Robot with you. He’s not stuck yet.”

  Knile smiled sadly. “That’s all right. You can hang onto him.”

  The boy settled back amongst the litter of his meagre belongings and began to scratch around aimlessly. Knile watched him, considering what to do. He didn’t really want to leave the kid here. He’d evidently survived on his own for a short while, but in the long run his chances of making it were slim. How many toxins was he ingesting in the air and in the food he was scraping together? In the water? He seemed plucky enough, but he was simply too young and inexperienced to survive in an environment such as this without help.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” Knile said.

  The boy looked up at him. “Where?”

  “I can take you back to the black house. Maybe we can find Malcus and your friends again.”

  “No. They’re gone.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m not going back to the black house.”

  Knile scrubbed at his scalp, exasperated.

  “How about you come back and see where I live, then? I’m sure we could make room for you.”

  “No. This is where I live.” The boy’s voice had dropped to little more than a whisper and his previous frivolity had been forgotten.

  “My place is much nicer than this.”

  “No.”

  Knile pressed his lips together and tilted his eyebrow as he acceded.

  “If that’s what you want. I’m not going to force you.” He gathered himself up and prepared to leave. “It was nice meeting you.” He held out his hand and the boy looked at it as if he’d never seen the gesture before. “See you.”

  The boy looked at Knile’s outstretched hand a moment longer, then gently reached forward and shook his fingertips. The boy’s digits were cold and clammy.

  “I’m Knile. What’s your name?”

  The boy shimmied back on his bottom and began to replace the toy parts into a plastic bag.

  “Roman.”

  “Good to meet you, Roman.”

  The boy nodded but did not look up from his task. Knile got moving again, glancing back several times as the boy disappeared into the gloom behind him, but he seemed to have already forgotten his visitor as he settled back into his little circle of trash.

  Knile roused himself in the air vent, struggling free of those recollections
of the past. He hadn’t touched on the memory of that day in a long time, and now the thought of it made him sad. Leaving the boy in the crawlspace had instilled in him a great sense of melancholy that had followed him all the way on his journey across Link back to his home.

  You have a job to do, Knile. Get to it.

  He shifted forward and returned his gaze to Honeybul’s door, where it appeared as though the visitors were now beginning to make their way home.

  It was time to get moving.

  9

  Knile hit the button on the intercom and stepped back, pushing the sunglasses flush against his face. He glanced over his shoulder as an Auto trundled past, but the occupants paid him no mind. There was no one else around.

  Impatient, he moved forward and tapped the button again. There was a pause, and then the video display was suddenly filled with the face of Hoyer Honeybul. He was red-faced and short of breath, and his irritation was evident even before he’d opened his mouth to speak.

  “What is it?” Honeybul said sharply, peering close to the camera to identify the new arrival.

  “Maintenance, Mr. Honeybul,” Knile said, adding a gruff edge to his voice to disguise it. “Got some work to do in your apartment here.”

  “Rubbish. I’ve scheduled no maintenance whatsoever. Now go away–”

  “You’ve got a leak, Mr. Honeybul. You’re breathing toxins right now as you’re talking to me.”

  Honeybul’s eyes widened in horror. “What? Dear lord, how on Earth is that possible?”

  “That’s what I have to figure out, sir. It would be best if we didn’t waste any further time.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course.” Honeybul leaned back from the camera. “One moment.”

  The intercom went dark and Knile heard the sound of doors opening inside the apartment. A moment later the entrance swung open and Honeybul stood before him, flustered and wide-eyed. He was dressed in a dishevelled white bathrobe that had been hastily fastened around his waist. Beneath it his skin was reddened and slick with sweat.

  “What do I do?” Honeybul said, evidently not recognising Knile in his grey maintenance coveralls and sunglasses. “Am I in danger?”

  “Not if I get this done quickly. Mind if I step inside?”

  “Indeed, go ahead,” Honeybul said, standing aside and gesturing urgently with his hand. “Should I leave?”

  “No, I’ll need your help, sir.” Knile followed the corridor to where it opened into an expansive living space, full of plush appointments and glittering ornaments, typical of an apartment in Lux. “Is there anyone else on the premises?”

  Honeybul seemed to hesitate. “Well, there is one–”

  “They should get out of here. No need to endanger more people than necessary.”

  Honeybul made a show of tightening his robe, clearly unimpressed, then nodded stiffly.

  “Very well. One moment, please.”

  He moved through a nearby doorway and Knile heard the hushed sound of voices. Knile gave the living area a once-over, ensuring there were no surprises waiting in store – no bodyguards or tardy guests in the kitchen or passed out behind the sofa – and then Honeybul returned with a sandy-haired youth in his mid-teens at his side. The old man placed his hand gently behind the boy’s back as he guided him past.

  “Go straight to the dorm, please,” Honeybul instructed. “And don’t stop to talk to anyone. I don’t want a repeat of last week with the Jensens, thank you very much.”

  The boy’s face remained emotionless as he went by, but as he glanced awkwardly at Knile it was evident that he was fighting hard to remain in control of his feelings. Knile thought he could see hurt and shame there, as well as something else. Hopelessness? Fear?

  Knile didn’t even want to contemplate what Honeybul had been doing to the boy before he’d been interrupted.

  The youth went on his way and Honeybul returned to the living area as Knile made a show of inspecting one of the walls.

  “Do I need uh… eye protection?” Honeybul said, waving his hands in front of his face. His eyes lingered on Knile’s sunglasses uncertainly.

  “No, it’s fine,” Knile said, and he slowly drew the sunglasses from his face. “In fact, that’s probably the least of your concerns.” He turned to face Honeybul but the old man showed no sign of recognition.

  “Well, go on then,” Honeybul said, flapping his hands at Knile in a shooing motion. “Get to work. I want this fixed immediately. And after it’s done I want a full report from your supervisor. This whole development is just ghastly and–”

  “Shut up,” Knile said quietly, and Honeybul’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “How dare you,” he breathed, his voice full of shock and indignation. “I’ll have you sent back to the slums for that, you little upstart–”

  “I want Roman removed from the Candidate program. Now.”

  “Roman?” Honeybul said, confused. “What’re you–”

  “Stop wasting my time!” Knile bellowed, and Honeybul flinched at the sound of his voice. “You know who I’m talking about.”

  Recognition finally dawned on the old man’s face, and he raised a trembling finger at Knile.

  “You’re Mr. Remington,” he said, aghast. “You’re the one who beat poor Mr. Glover to within an inch of his life. You shot that man at the party.”

  “Nice of you to remember me. Now, unless you want to be next on my hit list, I suggest you do as I say.”

  “What do you want with Roman? I told you he was already allocated–”

  Knile stepped forward and gripped Honeybul’s bathrobe with two hands, then hauled him across the mahogany coffee table and thrust him onto the sofa. The old man squealed in terror and clamped his eyes shut, wriggling where he lay as he waited for Knile to start raining blows down upon him.

  “Shut up!” Knile said. “Pay attention.”

  Honeybul opened one eye and, seeing Knile towering over him, struggled backward against the sofa.

  “All right, I’ll do what you want! Just don’t hurt me!”

  “Roman. I want him removed from the program and his data erased.”

  A look of dread came over Honeybul’s face.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Remington, but I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Roman has already been placed with his benefactor.”

  Knile recoiled in horror. “What?”

  Honeybul swallowed in an exaggerated fashion. “His authority to enter the Reach came through yesterday and he was processed this morning. The transaction has been made.”

  Knile felt the heat rising in his cheeks and he gritted his teeth, furious. He lunged forward at Honeybul and gripped him by the bathrobe again.

  “Where is he? Tell me, you fuck!”

  Honeybul wailed and tried feebly to worm away, but Knile’s grip was firm.

  “Yes, I’ll tell you. Just let me go and I’ll tell you everything.” He pointed at a tablet on the floor that had been knocked from the coffee table. “There! The information is there!”

  Knile snatched up the tablet and handed it to the old man.

  “Hurry up. Tell me what I need to know.”

  Honeybul swiped a trembling finger across the screen and then looked up uncertainly at Knile.

  “You have to promise that you’ll let me go–”

  “The boy!” Knile roared. “Tell me where he is!”

  Honeybul whimpered and turned back to the tablet, bringing up his Candidate database and scrolling through the entries. He had only flicked through four photos when he came to Roman.

  Knile felt sick seeing the image of the boy’s face. He thought of the transaction, of what kind of monster might have taken possession of Roman, and Knile wondered if perhaps he was already too late.

  “Where is he?” he demanded.

  Honeybul selected the entry and dragged his finger down until he came to the information he sought.

  “He’s with Mr. Rojas, over on Elk Parade. Right here in Lux.”
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  Knile snatched up the tablet and looked over the information. He saw a number of text entries where Rojas and Honeybul had been communicating as they’d set up the deal, negotiating on price and the delivery time. The address was listed as 13 Elk Parade. There was also a history of other transactions the two of them had conducted, and Knile could see that Rojas had acquired more than ten children in the last year.

  This bastard Rojas really churns through them, he thought.

  “Where does he take them?” Knile demanded urgently.

  “I don’t know. His home, I think.” Knile leaned forward menacingly, and Honeybul raised his hand protectively. “After the transaction is complete, the children are out of my hands. I’m not privy to the dealings of my clients, I swear.”

  Knile tossed the tablet in his backpack and then turned to leave. He’d only taken a few steps when he stopped.

  “This ends now,” he grated, fixing Honeybul with a pointed glare. “The Candidate program is finished. I want it dismantled today. Get the children returned to their homes, all of them. That includes the ones who are currently with their ‘benefactors’.”

  “Well, that’s quite impossible–”

  “I’m going to be checking up on you, Honeybul. I’ll be watching everywhere you go. If you haven’t followed my instructions, next time I won’t be throwing you across a coffee table. I’ll be throwing you off the balcony up on Level Two-Thirty.”

  Honeybul just blinked at him, disbelieving.

  “Unless you want to take a trip up there right now?” Knile said.

  Honeybul shook his head vigorously. “No, not that. All right. I’ll do as you say.”

  Knile began to move toward the entrance, taking a moment to check the street outside through the peephole. There were no Enforcers waiting out there for him from what he could see. He reached for the handle, then stopped as he heard the whisper of footsteps on the carpet behind him.

  Honeybul was charging at him with an indignant, murderous look in his eye. A blade flashed in his hand.

  Knile stepped out the way and easily avoided the old man’s attack. As Honeybul stumbled past, he rammed his fist into the old man’s face, causing him to crumple to the carpet like a rag doll.

  Knile kicked the knife away, then leaned down and gave him a slap on the cheek, but the old man was unconscious.