Absorption: Phase 03 (The Eighteenth Shadow)

by Grafton, Jon Lee

  Hugo pointed a thumb behind him, “I hear d’ humdroids up een d’ cemeetery, they’s getting bleended and shooting guns.”

  Tara looked around the thick, green forest, “But you didn’t hear anything else? A man talking like 45 seconds ago?”

  Hugo shrugged graciously, “Sorry seester, nada I hear.”

  “How did you find out we were busted?”

  “Juliandra’s eediot neighbor,” he said casually. “D’ lady ees CNED, card carrying beetch. I see her loading up d’ rifles and played eet cool; go outside eento d’ yard, burn a spliff and see what she say.”

  Tara waited expectantly, “So…?”

  Hugo handed her the smoldering joint, “Here smoke dis.”

  Tara took a hit off the joint, handed it back.

  He took it, hung the spliff in the corner of his mouth and continued, swirling his hand about as he talked, “You know, she say about dees beeg super steel, out County 1500, how dey’re floating out to nab dese shiners. She be all hopped up, telling me everyteeng before I even ask.”

  “So what? You just hoved out here like that?”

  “No, I try to ping Joan, nada. Den d’ boss, nada. Den boss-William, you, Dory. Nada, nada, nada. Our priveet com dark, hard firewall already.” Hugo moved off the tree, “So by now I know some sheet’s goin’ down. I borrow Juliandra’s Corolla, breeng flowers and preteend veesit a grave. All of CNED docked by d’ hovroad alreedy. Deetch dem easy, hop d’ fence. Den walk to here, stopping and a fire dees J wheen you and your leetle gray devils arrive, threaten reeping my face off.”

  Tara frowned happily, “They did not threaten to rip your face off.”

  Hugo straightened up. He was almost as tall as William, but more muscular.

  “So I leave for dos days, what? The whole pot ees feeled weet piss? What pasa? Dem humdroids prepping to come dees way. Dos gone down by d’ reever now I see.”

  She shook her head and considered recounting the story, then dismissed it, “It’s been a crazy 24 hours, but there’s no time. You shouldn’t be out here alone though without one of the girls. Or a rifle or anything.”

  “D’ boss, William has a sleengshot I can borrow, I feegure” he said grinning.

  Tara raised her eyebrows, “I’m sure. Well, go see the boys, they’ll fill you in. Dax asked me to come out here and gaze at some mercs. I’ll be back in thirty.”

  Hugo squeezed the roach between his lips and gave her knuckles and a nod, “Leetle seesta. I see you.”

  She watched him stroll down the hill the way she had come, the smell of marijuana smoke wafting after him. The Coyotes burst out of the underbrush and followed him in the direction of the farm yipping playfully.

  Tara turned and continued west. The trails were soggy. Her callused feet slurped through mud every other step.

  Twenty meters further along, she came to a triple fork. If she went straight, she would be in the cemetery shortly. If she went left, she would be on the main trail system heading deeper into the woods, south towards the hovroad. To the right, the trail wound towards the river. Tara chose the cemetery. She wanted to peak over the old barbed wire horse fence and see how many CNED hovtrucks she could spy docking along the perimeter road.

  In three minutes, moving fast, she reached the barbed wire. The fence was in disrepair, collapsed in several spots from long since fallen trees. Overhead, the yellow-orange canopy allowed only wan light to brighten the forest floor. Squirrels chased each other through the branches and a murder of crows cried and squawked, then took wing in a noisy black flutter. She put her hands on the rusty wire and stood on her tip toes, but did not have enough height to see over the last ridge. She walked down to where the fence was flattened and crossed through into the graveyard lawn. The wet grass made no sound beneath her feet. She noted how she had strangely abandoned shoes without a thought when the Coyotes reappeared in her life.

  Hiding amongst the tombstones, Tara was now able to count five docked CNED vehicles. No, six. Most were four door hovpickups. CNED hunters, like those who hunted animal, preferred to float trucks. Farther down the perimeter road, in the opposite direction, was Juliandra’s Corolla, docked by itself and looking like a forgotten, red insect. Ducking closer to a large, lichen-covered gravestone, she could see a man and a woman a 100+ meters off standing by their tailgate talking boisterously. Tara was too far away to hear them, though she could sense their malice. Something got their attention and they entered the trees. She closed her eyes, pushing her will, attempting to sense their intent.

  Leaves rustling behind her just then. She froze, opened her eyes.

  Leaves don’t rustle when it’s raining…

  The hair stood on the back of her neck. Mens’ voices getting closer. Also a presence directly behind. It was cold and predatory. Tara put her hands in the air and turned at a snail’s pace.

  I’m actually scared…

  A double-barreled shotgun greeted her. The weapon was enormous, barrels easily five centimeters across, leveled at her chest. The man holding the gun was in his early 50’s. His holograph flashed recognition through her mind.

  Slopes’ man. He stinks of rape.

  He was dressed in crisp, green coveralls, white armband with the red CNED fist wrapped about his bicep. His probably gray hair was dyed blonde, neatly combed in a wave. His blue-gray eyes shined with obscure brutality. Two more similarly dressed agents sauntered up after a few seconds. They too held the same oversized shotguns. Their eyes shined also, but with the obtuse glow of ignorance.

  Tara’s lower lip began to shake.

  Why did I run where I’m powerless?

  How unfortunate it was that the SAMCL drill destroyed that part of the brain which made people vulnerable to the courtezan push. There would be no alluring these brutes. They had all been to the slaughterhouse.

  Or they’re some of the crazies who volunteer for SAMCL surgery. Either way…

  The short, poorly-shaven fellow standing in the rear chewing tobacco spit a clod of brown saliva on the grass and nodded to his buddy, “See Bubs, this is why I says huntin’ drunks is funner than huntin’ deer. Not only can ya’ get paid, but the drunks got way better teets than any deer I evva seen!”

  The huge, portly one chortled nastily. He ran his tongue over a thin, greasy mustache, eyes oozing up and down over Tara’s body despite the poncho she wore. He extracted a Pleasium dispenser and snarfed a tablet.

  The man directly in front of her spoke next, with a smooth sneer, “Just out for a walk in the woods, sugar? Visiting your daddy’s grave? Got lost, I bet.”

  The men all laughed, a sound of rancid minds and dark corners.

  “Maybe she come out here to pee,” said the fat one. “If not, I’ll be her daddy.”

  His tongue lolled out the corner of his mouth when it wasn’t busily licking the bush of hair sprouting from his upper lip.

  The balding, hawk featured man with hair the color of dirty sand spit up more tobacco juice and stepped closer. Hate enveloped him. Tara closed her eyes to dampen the pain.

  Why am I so sensitive lately?

  Her mind flashed autonomically through holographic memories, searching conversations, images, stories of the past these three evoked. Then she had it.

  These are the ones… rumors around The Lady. Leo the bartender used to warn female patrons about this team before he scanned them out. Howler, Bubba and Ken Sapet. CNED Director, Ken Sapet…

  She opened her eyes with a gasp. The sharp-faced man was just centimeters away from her face, sniffing.

  Howler.

  His teeth were mottled with stains.

  Howler gave Tara a sallow grin, “Go ’head n’ piss. Take them knickers off. Kitty cat got yer tongue, bitch? I can loose it up for ya’,” he snickered and elbowed his dumpy friend.

  That’s Bubba.

  “Shut your mouths,” commanded Director Sapet.

  The director never lowered his shotgun. Even when he reached to tap his combud.

  Tara remained crou
ched. She could feel a bead of sweat running down her ribs absorbing into her t-shirt.

  She watched the leader’s steely eyes twinkle, unaffected by her gaze as he spoke to someone on com, “It’s Sapet. You aren’t gonna believe this, but I think we got your cat, right out of the bag, detective. Been here all of fifteen minutes. Not for sure, no. She’s got no combud. How many other girls looking like this would be out here snooping around in the rain?”

  Tara’s eyes turned to slits of anger when the man winked at her while he kept talking, “Inside city limits and everything. I woulda come out here a long while back if I knew it was gonna be this easy.” The man nodded, “No sir. Haven’t said a peep. Understood.”

  Tara caught a pewter flash passing beneath a shock of Evergreens near the fence line behind the humdroids.

  Welcome to the end of your lives, gentlemen.

  The heavy underbrush moved, stopped, then moved again. A blackish-gray, BIOSKIN© nose peeked shyly around the side of a tree. She had felt their stealthy return long before she had seen them. Their feral desire to attack pulsed, louder and louder, but she instructed them to remain out of sight.

  Patience.

  She dropped her hands, which caused all three men to tense the grip on their weapons.

  “Hands back in the air, lady. Even if you are gonna pee,” said Sapet with a vile smirk. He pushed the barrels of his shotgun closer to her chest, “I’d hate to see what this sonic would do to those sugar-tits of yours.”

  Tara allowed herself to stand, carefully, slowly, though she did not put her hands in the air.

  She flashed an aloof smile, eyes locked on Sapet as she retook the game, “Nice onesies, boys. You dress like this all the time? Or just on weekends, when you come out to the cemetery to blow each other?”

  The humdroid named Howler aimed his shotgun directly at Tara’s head and stepped towards her, face turning red, “What you say, cunt?”

  Tara raised her eyebrows and sidestepped towards Howler.

  She spoke the words with special care, “What I said, Hawkeye, is that you, your fat, no doubt child-molesting compadre and General Fucknut here with the platinum surfer wig probably come to the forest on the weekends and suck – each – others – cocks.”

  Howler flipped his shotgun around and brutally rammed the weapon’s stock into Tara’s abdomen. Ken Sapet stood passively by. Tara cried out and doubled over in pain, dry-heaving, falling forward onto her knees. The pain split her gut. A spot of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. She felt Dax call out to her in fear.

  Howler stood over her and pushed the shotgun’s cold barrel against her ear, “Dat’s better. Bet-cher dat good lil’ hospital slut we been hearin’ about, used to bein’ on yer knees.”

  Tara sputtered to respond but said nothing. The Coyotes cried in her mind. She held them at bay.

  Howler leaned closer, “Whas that, cunt?”

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were wet.

  She wiped the blood and tears away with the back of her hand and forced herself to smile, “My mom has bigger balls than you…”

  Howler raised his gun to knock her unconscious as a gray flash tore across the grass, sliced into the tendons on the back of his knee and was gone. Howler screamed and went down, hot arterial blood from his wound spurting onto Tara’s face.

  “Arrrghh! Whore!” raged Howler, clutching his gun.

  Bubba and Sapet turned their backs to one another, aiming at the surrounding underbrush. Sapet yelled, “They’re here! Stay steady… steady, Bubs. I don’t know, detective!” he screamed at his combud. “Howls just got hit by a Fido. No, just one. It was black, I think!”

  Sapet did the best he could to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

  Tara sank to the earth, raising her chin like a mad queen and sat back on her heels.

  Howler’s face twisted in pain and rage less than a meter away.

  He held his hand over the bleeding gash in his leg with one hand and pointed his shotgun at her, “I oughta end you right here, cunt!” he screamed.

  “There!” screamed Sapet.

  Tara saw the gray streak of fur as Coyote One charged again, materializing from the underbrush. The director was ready. He fired both barrels.

  “No!!” Tara screamed, falling forward.

  The agony spasmed through her mind as the cyborg’s body crumpled from the sonic impact and dropped. She pushed the rest of the pack to stay hidden, even as their cries of anguish filled her.

  Tara started to rise, but Howler’s shotgun was on her, “Dontcha even think ’bout it.”

  Her ears reeled from the blast of the sonic weapon, and she watched the first, self-aware cyborg ever created lurch, staggering to regain her paws. Huge swaths of BIOSKIN were ripped off her muzzle revealing the buckled titanalum plating below. Coyote One swayed and her vidorb shielding blinked erratically.

  “Lessee how ya’ like a couple mo’, doggie.” The man named Bubba braced himself, put a heavy leg forward and leveled his shotgun at the damaged cyborg’s head. Before Tara could scream, he fired both barrels, point blank.

  “Noooooooooo!!”

  Coyote One’s unarmored titanalum chassis tumbled through the air and skidded to a rest in a thicket of wild forsythia and sumac. Howler’s shotgun still on her, Tara watched in misery as the cyborg shuddered and convulsed. Half of her skull was crushed, a shredded tangle of wires and metal. Her remaining blue vidorb flashed, flashed, faster, faster, on and off, more brightly than usual. Then the blue light died.

  “Nice one, Bubs,” squealed Howler, tobacco drool running out the corner of his mouth. “Get ova here and tie me a turn-quet, boy. Thing cut me like a stuck pig. Soon we gon’ cut us sum sweeter meat,” he said, eyes dancing over Tara. “I like d’ way you cry, bitch,” he added, more spit rolling down his chin.

  Bubba knelt beside his friend with a humph. He set his shotgun on the ground and dug in his fanny pack for a bandage roll.

  Tara realized she was no longer shaking. She fell back and assumed the lotus position and defiantly raised her chin once more.

  Control your emotions.

  The metal taste of blood saturated her tongue. It ran down her chin. She eyed the obviously deadly shotgun in Ken Sapet’s hands, swallowing her sadness. Sapet cocked open the chamber and deftly dropped in two more silver shells the size of soda cans.

  He saw her watching and snarked, “What? This?” he nodded at his weapon. “Eight gauge armor piercing concussion cannon with nanometallic disruptors. You think we’d be out here with .22’s? Dumbass California betty.” Sapet sneered with satisfaction and touched his combud, “Detective? You got all that? Good. Yes. One of the cyborgs jumped us, sure as shit like you said, it was a little old Coyote. One of them ain’t much match against four concussion rounds. Bubba tore it in half! Whew!” Sapet slapped his thigh with delight. “Great way to start the day! Yes, and yes. I got her dead to rights.”

  Tara Dean closed her eyes and focused on her breath. The message was sent. The answer was received, a calculated fury rising beneath the cover of the trees.

  This is our forest.

  Tara opened her eyes and spoke sharply, “Hey Goldilocks! Not you!” she scowled at Bubba. “I’m talking to your boss. The faggot lookin’ yuppie.”

  Sapet scowled and loomed over her with his big gun, “Say another word. I’ll drag you into the forest by your hair and let these boys open every hole you have.” He threw up his white-gloved free hand and grinned, “Who’s gonna know? Everyone says you have issues with authority. Nurse Marlene says you don’t know your place. Do you know it yet, cunt?”

  Tara raised her gaze to the big humdroid, “Call me cunt one more time.”

  “Cunt!” jeered Sapet and spit on her.

  She looked coldly at the yellow saliva on her poncho, then turned her cheek to face the loathsome, hawk-nosed Howler, “You girls handled one Coyote just fine. Now try six,” she blew Howler a kiss and again closed down her eyes.

 
The remaining Coyotes descended like streams of jagged, silver smoke. Howler’s concussion shotgun fired wildly into the sky, twigs and splinters falling in slow motion from the pulverized branches above as the Coyote nearest took him in mid-air and removed his throat, spitting up blood and flesh before darting away. Ken Sapet was screaming into his combud as he felt the tendons in the backs of his own legs being sliced and he collapsed, shrieking with agony. He watched one of the small, blue-eyed cyborgs trot away with his right arm in its jaws, white-gloved hand still gripped, dragging the sonic shotgun with it. The Coyote’s titanalum teeth glistened red in the pale light. Bubba never got on his feet again. The remaining four Coyotes savaged him, each gnawing off a leg or arm, leaving only his torso and head flopping, wailing, gushing the end of his life into the wet cemetery lawn.

  Only when it was over did Tara Dean move from the lotus position. She stood like a wild queen covered from head to toe in the pigments of death. She removed the parka and tossed it aside, then wiped the excess blood from beneath her eyes, smearing it in streaks like war paint across her skin. The remaining Coyotes poured around Coyote One’s destroyed chassis, mewling. Tara watched them flatly. Her fury was beyond recognition. She at last responded to Dax’s pleading calls, pushing out the thought that she was safe.

  But highly pissed, my love…

  She bent over and picked up Howler’s concussion shotgun and loosed a pair of extra shells from his ammo belt, cracked open the chamber and dropped them in place. A red LED flashed on the gun’s stock, indicating that the weapon was biometrically coded to Howler and would not fire in anyone else’s hands.

  Joan can fix that.

  She would keep it as a trophy. She stepped over Bubba’s mutilated corpse, winding between gravestones back to the fence and trailhead. Coyote Two flashed in front of her and sat, looked up with pleading vidorbs. The cyborg’s muzzle was speckled with sinewy bits of flesh. Tara dropped to a knee and carefully brushed the mess from the animal’s face.

  She put down the gun and placed her hands on both sides of the Coyote’s head and looked deep into its azure lenses, answering the plea only her mind could hear, “That’s right. You’re number One now.”