The Hunt for Pierre Jnr

by David M Henley

  For a moment the hillock cringed before stretching into a vague anthropomorphic form. It grew and grew, compounding itself with everything in range of its suck. The monster spawned tentacles that careened through the surrounding buildings, creating more debris to feed itself until it stood tall above the rooftops.

  Like a cyclone the golem grew. Walls, squibs, bots and humans. Everything was pulled into the skin, still clutching and writhing with reflex.

  The maelstrom kicked forward, swinging its heavy legs out, knocking the walls of the Tuileries as it came straight toward him.

  Pete: Geof?

  ~ * ~

  From the moment the limousine came in sight of the team, a data hole erupted in the centre of metropolitan Europe. Services was blind. Geof kicked the table he was at, scattering his snacks to the ground. ‘One minute until satellite, Colonel.’ In the meantime Geof scanned for any feed coming from the zone.

  The satellite image came on, showing an explosion of dust rising upward from the ground.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘I have no idea, Colonel.’

  ‘It looks like a volcano.’

  ‘Colonel, what’s the reaction strategy for this sequence?’

  Pinter had been monitoring the operation through wall screens that were now black and static. The view from above showed the roof of the Dome and a growing brown mist spreading along the Rue de Rivoli.

  ‘That is not a resolution you will be happy with, Geof. We need to know what is happening down there and fast.’

  ‘The satellite image is no good, Colonel. They’re under the domes. We need something in there with working optics.’

  ‘Find something, Geof.’

  Pete, he thought to himself. You are on your own.

  ~ * ~

  As the monster trampled and assimilated everything in its path, Pete wondered if this was the sort of reaction the Colonel had expected. The body of the limousine was sucked upward and inside, shielded under the growing layers of flattened debris. Even the paving stones flew up to add themselves to the mass of the golem rushing forward, sand and grit falling in ragged flows.

  Pete felt a hand around his neck that transformed quickly into a shackle of unbreakable air lifting him up. He choked and gagged under the hold. Attempts to grab at his invisible noose resulted only in his arms flamboyantly flailing about, finding no purchase on the grip Pierre had on him. His body felt hot and was covered with a tingle of small pains as blood vessels popped in his cheeks and eyes.

  Floating and struggling, a peace encased him, gravity relinquished his weight and silence wrapped around him like wool. Even the alarmed heartbeat in his ears faded to nothing.

  He stared forward, his last vision the ill-constructed torso of aggressive collage that was the golem. Pete was intoxicated by a calm he couldn’t explain.

  The vision changed. The golem’s shell cracked and opened up, petal by petal as a flower to the sun, until he was staring at the unnaturally intelligent face of a young boy. He felt his mind absorbed by a wave passing through him.

  It was a strange face for so many reasons. The visage was serene and nonplussed, the eyes dark and shadowed as if the child hadn’t slept for his entire life. He’d never seen such understanding in the face of a boy so young. The skull was too big, with only a light scattering of wispy mouse-brown hair that couldn’t cover the tiger lines of his stretch marks.

  The child made no move and Pete could only stare, held in place to the millimetre, enraptured. He knew he wasn’t dead when the pain began.

  The eyes.

  The eyes are staring into me ... They do not blink.

  He is not one like the rest of us. He goes on and reaches beyond the one.

  Unblinking hazel eyes. Not unkind. Not curious.

  The infinite through the one. The parasite has taken hold in this boy.

  How long have I been in this darkness? I wonder if I’ve even been born yet. Yet ... I must have lived to know such terms. There is only that staring darkness. The unblinking void.

  ~ * ~

  He dissolved.

  ~ * ~

  For a moment he was floating in the ocean. A tugging of blue and piercing reflections.

  ~ * ~

  He was a different man than he had been before the blackout. He didn’t know how he even came to be this way. Piece by piece he remembered who he had been. This memory connected to that one. Some experiences were lost to him. Or were as unsortable as sand. Smells and sounds just couldn’t be placed. He had visions of places he couldn’t remember visiting. These illusions were left to disappear.

  ~ * ~

  As he lazed in half-consciousness, unsure if he existed or not, Pete had many nightmares.

  He stared up into the eyes of the woman straddling him. Why do you want to destroy everything?

  Things have to change. I want things to change.

  There will be a war. A war like we haven’t seen before.

  Yes. But we’ll win, Pete. We have to. How long can we go on living like this?

  ‘Oh, let me go, let me go.’ He moaned and tried to push her off him. She tightened her legs and beat back his hands.

  You want this too.

  I don’t.

  Don’t forget I can see inside your head.

  ~ * ~

  Pete woke up feeling chewed and as if he was staring out from the dark inside of some creature’s mouth. His eyelids forced themselves up, the light cutting shafts through his lashes. He wanted to cling to the shafts, drag his way free through them, but they were ethereal and he even more so.

  This dream version of reality reluctantly popped, and he was able to open his eyes fully and twist his head to look at the window that was administering the light. Thin curtains hung open, waiting for something to happen. Pete suddenly longed for the touch of a breeze, cool water on his skin.

  He laughed a single syllable, a gulp of humour before his rickety chest complained about the movement. He really hadn’t expected to ever wake up again, and his worldview had to adjust to the idea.

  ~ * ~

  There were two things he became aware of first: the light filtering through his eyelids and the persistent call of the symb on his arm. It gently repeated his name to him until he acknowledged it.

  Pete: I’m here. I’m okay ...

  Then he fell under once more.

  ~ * ~

  He woke to the trim of an air razor skimming over his cheek, each revealed strip colder at the touch of fresh air. His mind leapt up, a painful throb that nearly made him fall back under, but he stretched enough to find it was just a nurse doing her job efficiently, grooming the coma patient again.

  Light spilt into his eyes as he forced them open, a cathedral almost too bright to behold.

  She seemed a woman efficient in every area of her life.

  Hello.

  Her eyes flicked to his.

  Don’t be frightened. And please, continue. In fact, cut it all off. Please.

  She squeezed the razor back to speed and released her gaze. There’s no need for that, Mister Lazarus. You have friends around you here. And you’ll have to tell me out loud.

  ‘Can you please cut it all off?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She proceeded to trim around his scalp until it was only pale unripe skin.

  Friends?

  Friends they don’t know about.

  Thank you. How long have I been sleeping?

  Two days.

  She completed the job and rested his head back onto the pillow. ‘A doctor will be with you soon.’

  She faded from his reach at fifteen paces and he faded too.

  ~ * ~

  He knew they were there, the symb had warned him, and he peeked through its sensors. Colonel Pinter and Geof had taken seats on either side of his bed, waiting patiently. Geof was, of course, fiddling with data, and the Colonel, well, the Colonel seemed dist
racted.

  ‘I’m awake.’

  They both stood.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Geof asked.

  ‘I can hardly feel anything.’

  ‘You’re being medicated heavily. Maximums all the way.’

  ‘Am I that bad?’

  ‘Well,’ said Geof, peering down at him, ‘from the little I can see through your bandages, I’d have to say yes. But the prognosis is positive.’

  Pete nodded and felt woozy. The Colonel hadn’t said anything yet. ‘So, what happened? What went wrong?’ How am I still alive?

  ‘We’re piecing it together,’ Geof answered. ‘By the time we arrived, he was gone. There was just a crater of rubble and twitching bodies like yours.’

  Though it hurt his skull, Pete stretched toward Geof’s mind and caught a glimpse of the scene — road torn through to the catacombs below, buildings caved in or flattened, the random jerk of a bloodied limb.

  ‘He just left?’

  ‘We didn’t find him.’

  ‘And you couldn’t track him?’

  ‘All we had left was a satellite that was peering through the Dome. Services was blind for a bit there.’

  ‘What do you remember?’ the Colonel asked gently. ‘Obviously we’re going to need your full account when you’re rested and off the medication, but for now anything you can relate would be helpful.’

  ‘Did Tamsin make it?’

  ‘She’s well. Bruised and scraped but alive,’ Geof answered.

  ‘What happened to her attack?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell us what you saw first?’

  ‘Okay.’ Pete took a deeper breath, closed his eyes and pushed back to when he was standing on the street corner. ‘I remember the limousine had just come into sight and then ... I was lifted up.’ His head protested, as if the memories were sharp grains scraping at his brain. ‘I can’t remember after that.’

  ‘We lost comms at about the same time. Every eye we had on the scene went dead.’ Geof was making an effort to make his thoughts obvious, repeating over and over that Pete and Tamsin were both under suspicion of tipping Pierre off.

  Pete groaned. That’s ridiculous.

  ‘Do you remember anything else, Mister Lazarus?’ Pinter spoke up, prompted from above.

  ‘I saw him.’ Pete’s head throbbed. ‘He held me up and — ahhrr!’ He lifted his hands to his temples. Inside all he saw were those pale hazel eyes boring into him. He blacked out.

  ~ * ~

  ‘Look at you. More bruise than man.’

  ‘Hello, Tamsin.’ You’re not looking that much better yourself. Her exposed skin was raked red with lines.

  ‘Mister Lazarus.’ Pete.

  ‘What happened to you? You were meant to strike.’

  ‘I did, but he was too fast ... As soon as it began, I got knocked out and was sucked into the mess.’

  And yet somehow you lived. ’So, do you believe in him now?’

  ‘I guess I have to.’ Do you? We witnessed the manifestation of Pierre Jnr, and the world will be changed by it. ’Well, at the least, we can say that we gained one useful piece of knowledge from this assignment.’

  Pete itched all over and his own pulse sent missives of pain throughout his body. He hadn’t as yet discovered any positives to the situation. ‘That is?’

  ‘Pierre may now know everything you do, which means he might adjust his plans to whatever was in your head. Even knowing what he knows gives you something.’

  Pete grunted. Which means he knows about you.

  Yes. ’Hey, it may not be much, but it’s more than we had to go on before.’ I’m leaving.

  ‘True.’ I’m not surprised.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Pete. It’s not all bad.’ Please don’t think of me like that. ’You’re still alive. You’ve seen the face of the enemy now.’ That’s what you wanted.

  ‘Yes.’

  Did he scare you off?

  Clearly I’m not the only one.

  If we have a chance, Pete, our only chance is to split up. I can’t know what you’re doing, and I can’t have you knowing what I’m up to.

  Is that really your reason?

  You still don’t trust me? She leant close to him, her hair falling forward to encircle his face, and she placed her lips on his. He was surprised at their warmth. Breaking off, Tamsin straightened and looked down at him. ‘I’ll come by and see you again tomorrow. If they’ll let me.’ Goodbye, Pete.

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  ~ * ~

  As Tamsin walked down the corridor, watching the repetitive tiles of linoleum passing beneath her stride, a young boy took her hand and began walking beside her. Who is this boy?

  She smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. ‘Am I your mother now?’

  ‘Yes, and now we must hide, until it is time.’

  ‘I love you, Pierre.’

  ‘I love you too, Mother.’

  ~ * ~

  Pierre Jnr is

  confirmed alive on

  April Seventh, 2159

  ~ * ~

  To the outside world, it looked like an explosion. Even as the ground still vibrated, the streams of nearly two hundred thousand people flooded the Weave with recordings as they ran for their lives. Walls cracked and blocks fell from above. Many didn’t reach safety and their avatars froze on the last messages they projected.

  Around the world, daily life halted. In the hours following there was nothing else worth thinking about. The Weave was dominated by the events in the Dome. Along with thousands of surveillance flies, a terrified world watched as the cloud lost momentum then slowly spread out into a fog.

  The surrounding area was evacuated as soon as it began, Citizens fleeing north and south in a rush of squibs and jets. Soldiers and other personnel took control quickly, processing witnesses in a battalion of medic tents. Even when the threat seemed to have passed the exodus continued.

  Services cordoned off the assaulted area and none protested. Teams of transports landed and armoured soldiers rapidly spread out, checking every street and building. At the cordon, Servicemen formed a two-deep human perimeter, one facing into the hot zone, back to back with a soldier facing out at the crowd and the swarm of remote cameras.

  The natural airflow took an hour to dispel the cloud, by which time Services had erected a wall that blocked intervention from non-Services personnel. No cameras or sensors were allowed through. Nothing was allowed to fly overhead. Not until they knew what had happened.

  Every kind of check was performed. Team after team of scientists and experts were let behind the fence to perform their tests: radiation, explosives, distortion, chemical and bacterial, but nothing was out of its ordinary range for the area. At least that was what they reported into the Weave.

  Most of the Citizenry of 2159 hadn’t been alive for the most recent Dark Age. It was fifty years since the Örjian blitz and, as educated as the older generation could make them, the majority had grown up surrounded by the authority of Services and the security of the World Union.

  That this event in the Dome went unexplained was unacceptable. Though nobody knew exactly what had happened, opinions and suspicions were quick to build. Some pundits speculated it was the actions of an anarchist group, but none were known to have such destructive capabilities or inclinations, and none claimed responsibility.

  Around the world people stopped what they were doing to watch and rewatch the scant evidence that had been captured. A minute of satellite grabs, looping like a slideshow, showed the Paris street from above, obscured through the Dome roof, as the dust cloud appeared, twisted like a tornado then stopped as suddenly as it started.

  Most people in the twenty-second century liked to believe that violence was something the world was evolving away from and this disturbance was a significant breach. A smaller population, mostly Services enrolled, knew the world wasn’t as peaceful as it seemed, and presumed it was either another eruption
of tensions or a criminal syndicate with aggressive factions that needed quelling. Most Citizens didn’t like to observe this aspect of the world too closely; after all, that was what Services was for.