Brink (Spark City Book 1)

by Cameron Coral

  She was treading new territory. She had never used her touch for so long before. She hadn’t worked to heal someone so far gone; so dead. There had never been time in the war, as there were always more bodies to work on. Now, it was as if the cold streaming back was a fight from the body to stay dead.

  Ida wasn’t sure how long the process was taking. It felt to her as if it was thirty minutes or more, but she suspected it was less than five. She felt sorry for Lucy to lose her mother when she was so young. Ida knew something about how it felt. She had been orphaned at age five and forced to live in a government home.

  But then, she found a small warmth inside the body—the very last of the woman’s life force. It was a place near her heart. Ida concentrated all her pulsing, healing energy there. Slowly, Ida felt the warmth grow and spread through the body.

  On the couch, Vera’s body twitched. It was nearly invisible. If Lucy hadn’t been looking closely, she would have missed it.

  There was a desperate inhalation of breath from Vera. She gasped for air as if surfacing from a long time underwater. Her search for air caused the upper part of her body to rise from the couch. Ida gently pushed her shoulders down. “Easy now.”

  Lucy’s face contorted. “Mama!” She held onto one of Vera’s shoulders and wrapped her other arm behind her mother’s head. Tears streamed down her face.

  Vera started coughing, the air had filled her lungs again. She was pale and cold. She started shivering.

  “Get those hot towels, Paul.” Ida wasted no time placing hot towels along Vera’s chest and legs, then covering her with two more blankets. “She’ll be cold tonight. Better tomorrow,” said Ida.

  Paul had a huge smile on his face. “I knew it,” he shouted. “Lucy, I told you to believe me.”

  Ida stared at them. She was spent, beyond exhausted. And now that her secret was out, she feared the teens would talk. She would have to leave the city. Her body shook. She put her gloves on and said slowly, “This never happened.” She turned and left the apartment, vowing to sleep and start packing in the morning.

  Meanwhile, the small bookshelf camera transported its video to another location in Spark City, near the downtown area where the junkie who had been in Lucy’s apartment smiled and shook his head in disbelief at what he had just witnessed. The footage would fetch a high price, and he knew exactly who would buy it.

  Part 2

  Discovered

  Chapter 14

  Vance’s men, Singlet and J-Man, stood waiting in a basement hallway. Between them was Nancy Brown, former WXSC TV producer. She sat hunched over and exhausted on a small metal chair.

  They were deep in the bowels of Vance’s factory. Above, they could hear the churning of machines at work. Each thump and clack above them were signs of progress as more cybernetic police took shape.

  Vance and his people were the only human beings on the basement level, and among only a handful in the entire factory. He was proud of the fact that his factories were fully automated and required minimal human intervention.

  In the room on the other side of the wall, Vance lay on his back on a long metal table that had been draped with white sheets. Unlike the hallway and the rest of the basement, the room was spotless. The day before, he’d ordered a robot cleaning crew to scrub it from top to bottom, telling them to “make it shine so I can see my reflection.”

  He wasn’t a doctor, but he knew it must be clean because his flesh—his insides—would be exposed. Hygiene was critical to his survival, lest he get an infection. An infection might be his downfall, might worsen the terminal disease he already had.

  What did the doctors know anyway? Vance didn’t have a single doctor he trusted anymore. They had given him different advice, but nothing that hinted at a cure.

  They had said his blood was tainted, defective in some way. His body was failing to produce white blood cells on its own. That much they had all agreed on.

  But their recommendations on how to treat his mystery illness were all over the place.

  One doctor recommended a complete blood transfusion. Failed. Singlet made sure his death was painful and involved a slow, agonizing loss of blood.

  Another physician prescribed a diet and supplements heavy in iron. No go. That doctor fell from his high-rise apartment’s balcony one night.

  Others gave him various medications that all resulted in no change to his condition.

  He flew in experts from other cities. He spared no expense in searching for a cure. But they had nothing new to offer. He even tried using leeches he had shipped in from a forest in the Amazon. For an entire week, he had a nurse apply leeches to his body. All for nothing.

  The tests always came back the same. His white blood cells were decreasing, and Vance was growing more and more likely to die. Any infection could kill him. Worse, if he lost enough cells, it was only a matter of time before his body would attack his own white blood cells, mistaking them for a foreign infection.

  His legs and arms were in constant pain. They warned him that the first area of his body to start failing would be his extremities—toes, fingers, hands, feet, and then slowly up the lengths of his arms and legs.

  He wished they had been wrong on this point, but they were accurate. For a week, he had been in agony. He could barely sleep at night.

  In the visit before Vance had killed him, Dr. Acre had said he would need to amputate both legs, and maybe even the arms too.

  Vance could not, would not live the life of a cripple.

  He searched in vain for any alternatives, and in the end, Vance found his own solution. Just like every other success in his life, he made it happen on his own.

  He ordered medical robots from Japan, and checked their programming himself just to be sure they wouldn’t kill him for some reason.

  And now they operated.

  This time, Vance was being secretive, not allowing even his men inside to know exactly what was going on.

  Opera music, his favorite, blared in the operating room, partly to hide the drilling and buzzing sounds. He had told Singlet and J-Man that under no circumstances should they or anyone come in unless the door was opened by him or one of the robots.

  As Vance lay in a semi-conscious state under the influence of a strong pain inhibitor, he wondered about Nancy. Had she thought of escaping? Though meek, she was clever underneath. He admired her for her strength. She did as she was told, was organized, and was turning out to be an exceptional assistant.

  If she was planning an escape, it was useless. Usually he killed his victims right away, but she was the first he had kept around. She was the first to serve a purpose.

  Unlike the time with the nurse, Nancy really did remind him of his mother. They bore a physical resemblance. Vance had lied to the nurse; she was nothing, just a one-night stand.

  Vance’s men were smarter and stronger than Nancy. They had weapons. Unless she could distract or catch them off guard somehow, her chances were hopeless. She would wind up dead eventually.

  Vance wasn’t sure how long he would keep Nancy around.

  After two hours dozing in and out of consciousness, Vance was awake again. He stared blankly at the ceiling as he lay on the operating table. The lights above were recessed and filtered, so they did not blind him with their fluorescence. Smart thinking on his part. He had thought of everything for this operation.

  Or so he thought.

  He hadn’t anticipated the question from the medibot. There was a chance to save one of his arms. The robot had analyzed blood and tissue from various parts of his body. Both legs and his entire right arm needed to go, but his left arm—the one with the cybernetic hand and forearm—showed signs of healthier white blood cells.

  He wondered why he hadn’t sought out these medibots in the first place. Their precision far exceeded that of the inept human doctors he had dealt with.

  And now there was a chance to keep an arm—well, part of an arm. Maybe he wouldn’t entirely be a freak of nature.

  A
nd yet he was becoming something better—something beyond human. Like his robot police, he would be resilient, strong—better than human.

  “Take the whole left arm,” he said.

  Hours later, Vance had a droid summon Nancy from the hallway outside the operating room.

  Inside the room, he sat on the operating table, his back to the door. The room was clean and tidy. All instruments had been cleaned and put away. There seemed to be no signs an operation had happened, except for the lone human patient.

  As Nancy entered the room, she stepped a few feet into the room and stopped. He heard her footsteps and smiled to himself, anticipating her reaction.

  He had draped a white sheet over his shoulders, sheltering his body from her view.

  Vance turned his head to the side so she could see his profile. “Nancy, my dear.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a glorious day, don’t you think?”

  Nancy stood in place, waiting.

  “Nancy,” Vance said in a calm, soothing voice. “You are so quiet. Sometimes I feel as though I’m talking to a wall.”

  Nothing. Sometimes he felt like he was pulling teeth getting her to react. Maybe that’s why he found her so amusing and kept her around. She was a challenge.

  Vance said, “Stay where you are. I want to show you something.” He continued to hold the sheet around his body, as if he’d just gotten out of a swimming pool and was sheltering his body from the cold.

  He whistled, and classical music started playing through hidden speakers. He slowly made his way off the table and started walking toward her.

  The music of Beethoven’s 5th streamed out from hidden speakers. Strong, powerful notes enveloped the air between them.

  Vance stood facing her, a few feet away. He dropped the sheet to the floor.

  Nancy gasped.

  Before her, Vance stood naked. His legs had been replaced with metallic silver, thin but strong. Android legs like those of the robot police he manufactured.

  Both arms were cybernetic steel, his tattooed flesh gone.

  His entire chest from the abdomen to just below his neck was replaced with a high-sheen metal that resembled a human’s chest, ribs, and stomach. It was the same strong, indestructible steel used for his police warriors.

  Most prominent was his face. His left side remained Vance, but the right side of his face and skull had become cybernetic. His eyes were the same.

  He fixed his cold, fierce blue eyes on Nancy. “You wouldn’t believe the things I can do now.” He strode from the table toward a small forklift. Bending over, he lifted the vehicle in his arms and hoisted it above his head as a grin spread across his face.

  Nancy shivered as she took in the total transformation of Vance Drem.

  Chapter 15

  Ida sat on a bus bench outside the TV station the next morning. It was a clear and sunny late winter day, and she could see her breath as she contemplated the abduction of Nancy Brown.

  After the events of the previous two days, she was scared that she would be discovered. If people found out about her power, there was no telling what might happen. Even the government that had experimented on her and changed her body didn’t know the full extent of her touch.

  She wanted to immediately leave the city; to run as far away as possible and try starting over yet again.

  But at the moment, all that was on her mind was finding Nancy Brown and claiming the reward from the station. Once she had the cash, she could make a comfortable life in a new city, and disappear. Maybe she would head out west. She had heard someone on the news say that Denver was experiencing a resurgence.

  Too bad she had no idea where to start looking. She wondered if the hybrid, Gatz, would have information. Ida had almost convinced herself to show up at his bar tonight for the job.

  Almost.

  She still hesitated, not wanting to get pulled into something dangerous. Her war nightmares had returned, and she feared sleep. This wasn’t good for her nerves. She jumped at loud noises. She was on constant edge, continually scanning her environment for danger.

  And now she had the eerie feeling she was being watched.

  People walked around the frenetic intersection that morning, going to and from the commuter train station. A market had been constructed along one of the avenues. For those who lived nearby, it was the only time they could purchase vegetables such as potatoes and carrots. Farming was expensive and becoming rare. The available land had been destroyed over the years by environmental damage and territorial fighting between city-states. Farmers had moved their plots to the rooftops of tall city buildings. Only those who were well off could afford to shop for produce. Everyone else had to sustain themselves through protein packs and other types of packaged foods.

  She noticed two men who stood out from the rest of the daytime crowd. Wearing dark glasses, they were dressed in black suits, but they didn’t seem to be office workers. One of the men purchased a coffee from a stand. As he was paying, Ida started walking quickly toward another street.

  This is a test. This is only a test of your emergency broadcast system. Ida remembered her commanding officer would say this as a joke when they were about to start a new mission. He always got a few chuckles, and usually a smirk from Ida.

  Let’s see what these guys are up to.

  She walked quickly into a small cafe with a large window that faced the street front. She chose a table in the back, noted the back door exit nearby, and sat with her back against the wall. Her CO had also drilled into her platoon that a good soldier—a smart soldier—always positioned herself to see everything.

  This was Ida’s test to see how the two men reacted. She ordered a coffee when the barista asked her order from behind the counter. She waited and watched the street outside.

  Sure enough, one of the men walked by and stole a quick sideways glance into the cafe. Ida had grabbed a paper magazine when she entered the cafe. She held it in front of her now and pretended to read.

  Where is idiot number two?

  Two minutes later, the second man entered the cafe and sat at a front table. She noticed a bulge under his suit coat.

  Ida’s coffee arrived. She paid, took it from the counter, and sat at the man’s table.

  Eyes shaded behind dark glasses, his face had a momentary look of surprise before he shielded his expression.

  “Let’s cut the bullshit and get to the point,” said Ida. “Why are you and your friend out there following me?”

  He smiled a thin, flat smile that looked more like a smirk on his strong-jawed face. “You live an interesting life. My employer likes to keep tabs on newcomers.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  He said nothing and raised one eyebrow.

  “You keep following me, and…”

  He cut her off. “And what?” He wore a creepy smile now. He enjoyed toying with her.

  She waited for him to speak. He was like a Cheshire cat wanting to let out a secret. She knew enough about human psychology to know he was dying to tell her something.

  He leaned in across the table toward her and said in a low voice, “Will you touch me and make me all better?”

  She felt the blood boil within her, and before she knew what she was doing, she launched the wooden table up and onto him. Surprised, the man landed on his back.

  Ida placed her foot sharply on his neck, a move she had learned in the army to quickly and painfully disable her opponent.

  He gasped and gripped her boot, trying to move her foot.

  Then she felt cold steel at the side of her temple. His companion.

  She froze and released her hold on the man’s neck, slowly raising her hands in surrender.

  The man below crawled on his knees a few feet and coughed loudly. He was struggling to say something to his partner, but his voice sounded cut off, raspy. “She’s the—” He went through another coughing episode. “—The one we’re looking for.” He sat back against the wall, his color starting to return.

  The second m
an held the gun on Ida as she got to her feet. “She the one from the video?”

  Ida wondered what the hell they were talking about.

  “The one,” the choked man replied.

  The man with the gun smiled at Ida. “You’ll fetch a hefty price from Vance.”

  He turned his head to look at his partner on the floor, about to say something else, when Ida made her move. She slid two feet forward and, in two quick, sharp moves, punched his throat and pushed his arm back and painfully behind him. She heard a snapping noise—a bone breaking—and the gun clattered to the ground.

  She kicked it toward the back of the room, where it slid to a stop at the back door exit. The man next to her staggered backward in pain. The sitting man started to rise and reach for his gun. Ida grabbed a metal box of napkins and threw it as hard as she could at his face. She followed with the steaming hot cup of coffee.

  Before they knew it, Ida was out the back door. She raced through a backyard courtyard past empty outdoor tables. There was a wooden back gate. She quickly tried to open it, but discovered it was locked.

  Backing up halfway, she ran and jumped on one of the tables and launched herself up and over the gate, using one hand to steady herself as she cleared it.

  The two men had recovered enough to make it through the back door and out onto the patio. They saw her just as she cleared the gate.

  She landed and rolled to protect herself against the impact. She found herself in a small back alley, and thanked her lucky stars there hadn’t been a fence or something sharp.

  Ida ran as fast as she could, hoping to clear the alley before they could see her. She heard a shot ring out and figured they must have shot the lock that secured the gate.

  Idiots.

  By then, she had turned a corner that led to another street. She kept running as fast as she could past store windows, street stalls, and bystanders.