Flight of Shadows: A Novel

by Brouwer, Sigmund

  Avery went back to the internal mike. “You there?”

  “Where else?” his agent said, somewhere among the rows of soovies.

  “If your cover isn’t blown, maintain the operation.”

  “For as long as you want.” The agent sounded cavalier, and Avery guessed there was good reason for it. As long as no one in the soovie park suspected the agent’s role, it was relatively easy living in exchange for substantial hardship pay. This agent had been recently divorced. He needed the money.

  “Out then.” Avery clicked off. He frowned again. This time because he heard sobbing.

  It came from the rusted soovie. The girl. She had been protected by the soovie’s windows from the fear pheromones dispersed by a lob grenade.

  He stood and flashed a beam through the window, catching the small girl in the face. He waited for a scream of terror at the sight of his gas mask but immediately realized the girl was blinded by his flashlight. Could only see the bright whiteness.

  “Where’s Billy?” she said through tears. “My mother stopped breathing.”

  Avery knew what had led to their agent risking a blown cover. Avery would not have authorized the stealth chopper to get here otherwise.

  The small girl was now at the mercy of the rest of the soovie park inhabitants. There were hardly any children in soovie parks. Of all that might be inflicted on the girl, slavery wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

  But she wasn’t his business. Soovie parks were soovie parks, outside of city borders, outside of city concerns. If people made a choice to live there, they accepted all the consequences that went with it.

  But Avery was a father too. “Come here,” he told the girl.

  She shrank back at the strange voice and clutched the body of her mother, sobbing louder.

  Avery calculated how much time remained of his self-imposed ten-minute deadline before the soovie park inhabitants started drifting back. Some of them, from experience, would realize that fear pheromones had been used to disperse them and would be eager to get at the contents of the soovie of the latest dead among them.

  “Come here,” he told the girl. “I’ll get your mother to a hospital.”

  The hopeless will cling to the slightest of hopes, and the girl responded to his lie. She unlocked the soovie door and stepped out.

  Avery scooped her in his right arm and lifted her off the ground.

  “We need this one too,” he announced to his crew.

  “My mother! My mother!” She began to pound on Avery’s shoulder.

  Then traces of the remaining fear pheromones, brought by inhalation, reached the olfactory region of the girl’s nasal cavities, just below and between her eyes. The smell, faster acting and more powerful than any other sensory cue, caused her mitral cells to fire a message directly to her nervous system. Almost instantly, she was overwhelmed by panic, incapable of rational thought.

  Avery had miscalculated. Not about the presence of lingering fear pheromones, nor about her physiological reaction to them. And he knew the dangers of trying to stop adults from fleeing as adrenaline jolted their bodies. He’d been wrong in thinking he was strong enough to contain the girl when the panic hit her.

  She exploded in his arms. The flurry of her blows knocked his gas mask askew.

  In surprise, he sucked at air and had just enough rationality to swear at himself for his carelessness.

  Then the fear hammered him senseless too. With a roar, he blundered and flailed toward his own crew.

  NINE

  Mason Lee huddled beneath a blanket at the side of the river with only his hands exposed. He’d eaten two sandwiches in a matter of seconds, slightly put off by the strangeness of the taste but too hungry to care. He held a thermos cup of hot chocolate and sipped it, grateful for the warmth that traveled down his ragged throat.

  “You’re safe,” the older man said. “Just want you to know that. I escaped Appalachia myself, and I can tell you it’s worth it.”

  Mason immediately tingled with a sense of danger. For the last five years, Mason had made sure that every single one of his bounty hunter captures went to every vidpod in Appalachia. If the older man had lived there, any second he might recognize Mason. That would be the old man’s death sentence.

  “How long back?” Mason asked. Casual. As if a man’s life didn’t depend on the answer.

  “Been at least ten years,” Abe said.

  “Good for you,” Mason said. “Real good.” His voice cracked. He hadn’t spoken much over the last few weeks, except for the mutterings and grunts to remind himself he was still alive.

  That didn’t mean, though, the old man was safe. Or the other. He’d let this play out before he decided if these two men might be more useful dead than alive.

  “Mind if I examine your eye?” This was the younger man, who had introduced himself as Johnny, squatting beside him. “I’m a physician’s assistant.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Johnny leaned in close. Mason closed his left eye—the wandering one—against the brightness of the flashlight beam. Much as his left eye had always bothered his vanity, it was always fun watching how people reacted to him. Might be more fun just being down to one eye, watching people squirm as they tried not to show they noticed. Mason liked people on edge.

  “Punctured,” Johnny pronounced judgment on the right eye. “Lost its fluid. I’m afraid nothing can be done. We’ll have to remove what’s left and stitch your eyelid in place.”

  Johnny was perched precariously on his heels. Wouldn’t take much of a lunge to knock him over. Mason held back his impulse.

  “Long term, maybe we can get you a synthetic eye to replace it,” Johnny said. “Maybe some surgery to fix the muscles behind the other one.”

  “You saying something about my wandering eye?” Mason had knifed men for less. The gaff would work just as well once he got it from the older man, who was leaning on it like a cane. Or grab the gaff on the ground, just out of reach, that Johnny had set down.

  “I’m saying we’re going to help you as much as we can,” Johnny answered. “We’ve got a safe apartment inside the city walls waiting for you. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep you out of the shantytowns and soovie parks. You’ll have identity papers. Work permit. A job somewhere in the city. And a savings account with enough money to keep you going a few months. All thanks to the underground railroad that got you out of Appalachia.”

  Mason shivered as he forced himself to eat his anger. In Appalachia, because of his position, he’d rarely had to impose that kind of discipline on himself. Here, he wanted to get a feel of his surroundings. Like a panther dropped into new territory.

  The older one, who called himself Abe, spoke. “There’s blood on the other life jacket. The empty one. Just above the water line. Near the neck rest. Just like on yours.”

  Mason blinked. It was strange having just one eye to blink. He hadn’t expected, of course, that Outsiders would be waiting here for the two men escaping Appalachia. When they’d first shone a light on Mason, though, it had not seemed like there would be a problem. Until this.

  Now maybe he would have to kill them and take his chances. He clicked his teeth together, planning it. Maybe stand up casual and half fall, pretend he needed the gaff on the ground for support. Swing it around, take the older one first. Then take a little extra time and gaff the doctor in the eyes, get him back for the wandering eye insult.

  “Let him rest,” Johnny told Abe. “Look at him shiver. Who knows what happened on the other side.”

  This gave Mason enough time to come up with an answer.

  “Going through the underground river, he went crazy,” Mason said. He coughed a few times, almost like he was relearning to use vocal cords. “He screamed about things pressing in. Started thrashing around, pulling himself out of his life jacket, unzipping it at the front. Hit his head on a rock sticking down from the roof of the tunnel. Knocked him out. Blood everywhere. I tried holding him as good as I could. But he slipped ou
t, and the water was too fast for me.”

  For a few seconds, although Abe and Johnny didn’t know it, their lives balanced on a razor-thin edge. Mason looked from the younger man to the older man to the younger man, trying to gauge whether they believed him. At the slightest sign of distrust, he’d turn savage on them. Their food and hot chocolate had given him back the energy that the water of the river had taken from him.

  “Some things I myself don’t like remembering about my own escape,” Abe said after a respectful silence. “It’s why I’m here with Johnny, helping. You’re in good hands. All you got to do is follow us, and everything’s going to be just fine.”

  “Appreciate that,” Mason said. Then, like an afterthought. “Either of you here when a kid named Billy Jasper made it out?” Mason asked. He wanted Caitlyn but didn’t want to reveal it directly. “Strapping big one. Speaks slow but has a good heart.”

  “Oh yeah,” Abe said, enthusiastic to help. “Had a kid with him. Named Theo. Quirky kid. Likes to talk to himself. Does weird stuff with numbers. It’s supposed to be a secret from the government, so when they wanted to leave Lynchburg, I put them in touch with a believer in DC.”

  “Be good to find them,” Mason said.

  “No problem,” Abe said. “We should be able to help you with that too.”

  TEN

  Breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell of stale vomit, Caitlyn sat rigidly in the Enforcer car. She’d been uncuffed briefly before they shoved her into the backseat so the cops could cuff her again, hands in front this time, and the cuffs had been attached to a chain attached to a steel ring in the floor. There was enough slack in the chain to let her lean back, but there was little more she could do. The rear doors had no interior handles. No escape.

  She kept trying to force her mind away from speculation at her fate. The cops had been wrong to judge her as an Illegal by her lack of facial tattoos; through the network that helped people escape Appalachia, she had been provided residency papers for a legal apartment and identity papers that allowed her to work. In theory, she had committed no crime, and once that was established, in theory, as an Invisible she had the right to demand to be released. In practice, however, she feared what would happen after she was forced to strip and her deformity was inspected closely enough to raise questions about her true identity.

  In Appalachia, an NI agent named Carson Pierce had employed the bounty hunter Mason Lee to find her and her father. While Mason would never escape Appalachia, Caitlyn knew Pierce was here. Outside. Still looking for her. Back in Appalachia, Mason Lee had wanted to cut her apart for her ovarian eggs; would the government do the same once Pierce finally succeeded in what he’d begun with Mason Lee?

  The Enforcer car passed beneath streetlights. If the cops in front were talking, Caitlyn couldn’t hear. Thick clear plastic was a barrier between the front seat and back, with a two-way microphone and speaker. She knew this because when Razor had told Caitlyn the cops could listen in on their conversation, the second cop had flipped a switch and barked at them to shut up.

  Caitlyn had given Razor the same instructions. If it weren’t for him, she would have been up the drainpipe and a long way toward freedom.

  Now Razor leaned forward to his hands. From Caitlyn’s perspective, it appeared that he had bent as far forward as possible to scratch the back of his neck. He straightened.

  The car alternated between shadow and light. It revealed that Razor had dark hair that looked like he cut it himself, ragged at the edges. He had even features, cheekbones verging on sharpness. Her guess about his age seemed correct. He was a young man. Who didn’t seem too disturbed at his situation.

  At the next streetlight, she noticed his fingers moving. Had there been a glint of wire among his fingers?

  The car did not reach the next streetlight for her to confirm her guess. Instead it slowed abruptly. To Caitlyn, it sounded like the engine had quit. She saw the driver leaning forward, as if turning the ignition key.

  There wasn’t much traffic. Never was except for government vehicles. Only the extremely rich could afford gasoline and the taxes. But almost immediately, a black four-door sedan moved up to the left of the cop car. The passenger in the black car had his window down and was holding a badge, his lips moving as he shouted something that Caitlyn could not hear because of the barrier between the front and rear.

  Caitlyn rocked forward as the cop hit his brakes.

  The black sedan stopped with them. The passenger got out and leaned into the driver’s side of the cop car. A man, midthirties. Khaki pants. Black sports coat. Showing his badge again.

  Now Caitlyn could hear muffled words as the conversation continued. Nothing about the conversation seemed friendly. Both cops—Skinner and Smitty—were shaking their heads in the negative to whatever was suggested by the man from the black car.

  Khaki Pants pointed at his badge emphatically, then gave up. He slipped it inside his sports coat. But his hand didn’t come out empty. It was some kind of stubby, pronged weapon, not much bigger than his palm.

  There was the flash of a blue arc and a crackling sound that made it through the thick plastic to Caitlyn’s ears. Both cops seemed to vibrate, then slumped.

  “NI,” Razor said. As if this was routine for him. “They’re the only ones who don’t care what the monitor records. And the only ones with Tasers. At least legal Tasers. They only work if the fingers on the Taser match the fingerprints registered to it.”

  Khaki Pants hit the electric door unlock but waited for his driver to come around before he opened the back door to Caitlyn.

  “Change of venue,” he said in a neutral voice. He pointed the Taser at Caitlyn. “Don’t fight me on this. I can throw you in the trunk as easily as you can climb in yourself.”

  The driver was a woman. About the same age as Khaki Pants. Tailored jacket. Dark pants. Dark hair. No smile.

  She held a handcuff key.

  “Let’s get this done,” she told her partner. “Pierce is going to love us for this.”

  “That’s probably a big motivation for you, isn’t it? Think I can’t tell you’re hot for him?”

  “We’re on the monitor,” she answered.

  “I know. Statement still stands. But come on, the guy’s ten years older than you.”

  “If you weren’t gay with a crush on him, what Pierce thinks about any woman wouldn’t bother you so much.”

  “Cold,” he said. Then he looked at the monitor and spoke loudly. “Pierce, when you review this, you gotta know she’s joking. Really.”

  “And I’m in a hurry,” she said. “So stop trying to impress him.”

  Khaki Pants stepped back, still gripping the Taser and watching Caitlyn.

  No Smile leaned forward to unlock Caitlyn’s cuffs. She smelled faintly of shampoo. Not a trace of perfume.

  Razor lifted his wrists and rattled the chain that attached his handcuffs to the floor. “What about me? At least cut me loose before you go.”

  “Be glad you get to stick around for when the cops wake up,” No Smile said in a flat voice, working the key into the chain that held Caitlyn’s cuffs. “You don’t want to be part of this.”

  Razor spoke softly. “Then I suggest you close your eyes. Caitlyn.”

  Caitlyn didn’t understand. She kept watching Razor. Just as No Smile removed Caitlyn’s cuffs from the floor chain, Razor lifted his hands again. This time no rattle of chains. And his hands were free. He tossed something past her, out the open door.

  Her eyes followed. So did Caitlyn’s. Except suddenly there was Razor’s hand over her eyes, pressing her head back against the seat. Even so, an incredible brilliance flashed between the cracks of the fingers.

  He dropped his hand from her face.

  There was still a ball of white glow on the pavement, enough for Caitlyn to see both agents staggering and frantically rubbing at their eyes.

  Razor scrambled over her and, without any hesitation, sprinted behind Khaki Pants. Razor yanked the man�
��s coat off, pulling it backward down his arms so the man couldn’t fight. Razor grabbed the agent’s gun hand and twisted the Taser toward the agent. He squeezed the man’s fingers against the trigger.

  Another blue, crackling arc. Khaki Pants dropped, Taser still in his hand. With no emotion on his face, Razor lifted the weapon, pointed at the woman and squeezed the agent’s limp fingers to shoot again. He opened the front door of the cop car, dropped the weapon on the floor, and paused to address the monitor attached to the rearview mirror.

  “Pierce,” Razor said, covering his face with his hands and speaking between his fingers, “whoever you are, better luck next time. That girlfriend of yours. Hot looking. Slow though. Might want to think about that.”

  Razor backed out and was panting slightly as he reached into the rear seat to help Caitlyn slip out of the car. The final glowing of the white ball showed where the key had fallen from the woman’s hands onto the pavement.

  Razor moved into the front seat and took back the folded papers and Caitlyn’s knife. He returned to the backseat and grabbed Caitlyn’s wrists and unlocked the cuffs.

  “Told you,” he said. He handed her the papers and knife. “Fast. Sharp. Dangerous.”

  “Told you,” Caitlyn said, fighting the impulse to smile as she tucked the papers away and sheathed the knife again. “Go away.”

  “We’re still live on camera,” he answered, pointing at the rearview mirror. “They’ve already got cars on the way. No sirens. No lights. Rule of thumb. Enforcers can get to anywhere in the city in a hundred and twenty seconds. I’m not going to wait and argue. Want to stay alone? Or run and take your chances with me?”

  ELEVEN

  Wednesday

  The doctor dropped this off for you while you were sleeping,’ Abe said. Mason was in Abe’s small kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. His back still to Abe, Mason finished pouring coffee as if he owned the tiny apartment suite and Abe was the guest. Mason’s second cup already. In the cave, he’d missed coffee. Badly. The aroma. The taste. The small, satisfying jolt of caffeine. Missing coffee, more than rats crawling over his face, would have been enough to drive a man crazy. Mason thought with some satisfaction that it was a good thing he was mentally strong enough to have survived all of it without slipping into insanity.