Karma City

by Gardener Browning

“Never!” Eric sprang, tackling Jameson to the floor. Something stung him under the ribs. The syringe! Jameson shoved Eric off of him and crawled for the doorway. Eric dove, wrapping his arms around Jameson’s lower leg and biting into his calf. Jameson groaned and rolled over, positioning to kick him off. Before he could react, a sudden gunshot freed him. Eric lay coiled on the floor. Jameson looked up to find Luna standing in the door way, her rifle barrel smoked.

  “I’m sorry, Jameson. One minute left.”

  Jameson stared at his father lying motionless on the floor. Emotions stormed in his heart. Sorrow, loneliness, rage, regret and even love tangled to a noose of total, soul-breaking despair. When he lifted his eyes to Luna, his vision blurred and his throat tightened. A sharp pain at his ribs grew to a searing flame. With a shaking hand, he pulled a syringe from his side. He dropped the dirty needle and it rolled, knocking against Luna’s boot.

  She picked it up. “What the hell? Did he stick you with this?”

  Jameson’s breath shortened. A terrible pressure swelled in his head. He managed to utter, “Kill…me!”

  “Can’t do that.”

  Luna pulled him up and slung his arm over her shoulders. Jameson’s awareness ebbed and flowed like waves of deep sleep cresting over his mind. He heard Luna’s gunshots clearing their path. He felt her dragging him down the stairwell and across the deck. The weightlessness of falling enveloped him, followed by a sudden burst of cold water. Just before his senses extinguished, a devastating, fiery explosion ignited the stormy night.

  Maybe we’re all dead, he reasoned in the hollow of his mind. Maybe it’s all over now.

  From the fringe of his consciousness came a strange reply like a faceless voice echoing through an obscuring mist.

  “I don’t think so, Jameson. It’s all just beginning.”

  Chapter 10

  The puddles on the walkways reflected the white morning sun. Rays of light broke through the treetops to sparkle off the dewy grass. Donna had said to try strolling through Greely Park just after sunrise; it always cleared her mind. So, he figured he’d give it a try.

  Jack inhaled the crisp morning air and listened to the clopping of his shoes against the pavement. He thought about how he might write the sound in a story. Like the clatter of horses’ shoes…no. Too cliché. Like two gavels hammering with resolve…much better. He sighed. Clear the mind? Writers don’t get to clear their minds. Those not born to words can’t imagine how much the writer keeps inside, how many thoughts he can’t ignore, how many feelings weigh him down or just how much those thoughts and feelings matter. They all matter, and they always remain.

  The park walkway ended at the sidewalk. He had come with a full mind and heavy heart to, what he believed to be, Karma’s greatest ruin—the city library. Though the rising morning warmed the neighborhood and glinted off the surrounding buildings, the library remained gray and forlorn. No longer was this a place of history, lore and record. The boarded windows, rustling litter and streaked graffiti created an image fit for a nightmare’s backdrop. As Jack stood under its lifeless shadow, the last winds of the night whistled out from the hollows.

  A voice came from the blackness.

  Jack listened closer when he recognized the voice quoted the Odyssey, a classic work of literature Jack had loved and long forgotten.

  “You see, Homer writes, ‘There will be killing till the score is paid.’”

  A murmur stirred to an uproar. Jack questioned, there’s a crowd in the library? It’s been abandoned for years. He crossed the street and shuffled up the library’s steps and entered. He followed the sound of the gathering to a large auditorium and looked in through a crack in the door. Candles lined the room, casting an unsteady glow about the crumbling walls. Jack guessed over two hundred people assembled to hear the lithe figure dressed in a crimson trench coat pacing the stage. I’ve seen a coat like that. But where? Damn Malady. I can’t remember. Jack stayed behind the door, watching and listening.

  “Though some of you shake your heads with defiance at the thought of doing harm, I implore you to open your minds to the mystery of this book.” The man waved the hardbound tome over his head. “Why has it lasted when all around it has fallen? Why have I come to rediscover its lost truth? Why are you all still here, hanging on my words?” He paused. Silence eclipsed the people. The man opened the book and said softly, “Because like this book, you wish to last even though the world falls around you. You wish to rediscover those precious truths that your Malady has taken. My dear listeners, my brothers and sisters, your Malady is not a weakness. Oh no! For it is written here, you see,” he touched the page. “Homer affirms, ‘Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.’ It is the truth. And so is the fact that, with Malady, you are all more than man, so much more. You are not Lesser. Look around you. Behold the strength that emerges in such a family and feel it rise within you.”

  A man from the heart of the crowd called out, “Gemni, you don’t understand. The world hates us because we’re infected. We’re shunned and many of us are addicted to Quell. Our communities have built walls that keep us away just because we’re sick. It seems the only place in Karma we have is Undertown. How are we supposed to keep living like this?”

  “I hear your fear. I feel it and it saddens me. This is your city; those who would deny you a home where you can be safe and loved, are your enemies. So, I ask you, what is right?”

  “I…I don’t know anymore.”

  “That’s why I’ve come, you see. To help you all believe once more that your life is worth fighting for, that the world you live in is worth fighting to keep. Malady has brought us together in this goal. We are unified more tonight than any of the uninfected Lessers in Karma.”

  “What are we supposed to do now?”

  Gemni raised his voice and paced the stage. “The Lessers have stolen from you, killed your friends, neighbors and family members. They have withheld compassion and discarded you because you have Malady. They will continue to extinguish lives to keep themselves over Malady because they fear the truth that Malady is the evolution of mankind. The Lessers will kill you,” he pointed to a woman in the front row, “and you,” he pointed to a man standing at the far left, “and you, and you, and you.”

  The crowd broke into a collective roar of upset.

  Gemni yelled, “We will wait for our family to grow stronger and when the perfect moment presents itself, we will claim this city!”

  A crescendo of applause filled the auditorium. Jack slowly backed away from the door. I’d better get the hell out of here! He ran down the hall, hearing Gemni’s promise echo through the drafty library. “‘There will be killing till the score is paid!’”

  Jack hurried down the sidewalk and crossed the street, trying to get as far from the library as possible. He backtracked through the park until he came to the opposing street. The pink neon sign of the Greely Park Diner, the one flickering the word ‘open,’ was a lighthouse guiding him to shore. Coffee. Eggs. Bacon. After seeing that crazy shit, I need some serious soul food.

  The string of bells rattled on the door as it closed behind him. Donna smiled. “Morning, Hun. How was the walk?”

  Jack met her at the counter and leaned on his elbows. “You’ll never believe what I witnessed at the library!”

  ‘The library? That building’s condemned.”

  “Right. And it’s filled with whackos.”

  Donna cringed. “Jack please; the customers.”

  “Sorry.” Jack lowered his voice. “There’s some kind of cult meeting there and they’re talking about killing people!”

  “I don’t mean to sound rude, but have you taken your medicine this morning?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. I haven’t.”

  Donna caressed his face. “It’s the morning rush now. I can’t talk but I do want you to tell me about it later today.”

  “I understand. And I don’t mean to come in here seeming off my rocker
. I feel fine. Really.”

  A customer called to Donna. “Can I get a menu, please?”

  “Right away,” Donna replied. She said to Jack, “Your spot’s ready. Go relax and I’ll bring you some coffee in a minute.” She kissed his cheek, then hurried to bring the man his menu.

  Jack sat in his booth listening to the chatter of the locals around him. Two old men at a nearby table spoke with mouths full of food. “The whole damn place got shot up!” exclaimed one of the men.

  “Who in the loins of Lobos would want to attack Eden?” asked the other.

  “Beats me. But what’s worse is the fire off the coast this mornin’. My buddy works the docks; I’m gonna call ‘im, you know, see if he knows anythin’.”

  Jack was out of the loop. “Hey,” he said to the men, “what did you say about Eden and a fire off the coast?”

  “Been under a rock, Halligan? Ain’t you usually on top-o these kinda things?”

  Donna brought Jack a steaming cup of coffee and a small decanter of cream, then slipped away to greet more arriving customers. Jack poured the cream into the cup and stirred. “A friend passed away the other day,” Jack explained to the men, “I’ve been dealing with that.”

  “Real sorry to hear. We was just sayin’ that some whackos went and shot-up Eden and then some other whackos—”

  “Or the same whackos,” interjected the other man.

  “Yeah, or the same whackos, blew up the Graves Enterprises vessel.”

  Jack sipped his coffee and remarked, “Marcus Graves must be pretty upset this morning.”

  The man pointed out the window. “Don’t look like he gives two shits to me.”

  Jack turned in his booth and looked outside. There, a gleaming black limousine bearing a silver letter G idled at the curb. Two men in suits guarded the vehicle and between them stood the owner of Sable Tower, overseer of Sable District, and developer of the Malady suppressant drug, Quell, Dr. Marcus Graves. Jack had never met Marcus Graves in person. He’d seen many pictures and read plenty of his work, but this was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on him. And here? In central Karma? At the diner?

  Graves’ black overcoat fluttered at his heels. His polished shoes reflected the sunlight and his combed black hair sheened like the wings of a crow. The lines of his face made sharp angles around his jaw and a thin, black mustache framed his blood-red lips. Jack watched as Graves slowly pulled off his sunglasses and looked at the diner. His glacier-blue eyes shined from the deep recesses under his brow.

  The chatter in the diner subsided when Graves entered. Some of the patrons greeted him with handshakes and praise for Quell. Jack saw Donna’s nervousness. She fidgeted with her pen as she welcomed him to the diner. “Good morning, Dr. Graves. How can I help you?”

  Graves took off his overcoat and draped it across his forearm. “Actually, I’m here for two reasons. First, and most importantly, I hear this diner is the jewel of Karma and that the breakfast specials are superb. I just had to find out for myself. Second, I’m looking for Mr. Jack Halligan, the writer.”

  Jack spat out his coffee. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and grumbled to see that he’d dribbled on his shirt. Great, just great. Graves is looking for me and I’m a mess.

  Donna continued with a smile, “We appreciate you being here, this morning.” She handed him a menu. “The new breakfast and lunch specials this week are the Train Tracks Omelet; three eggs loaded with peppers, onions, potato slices, and sausage, or the Karma Dog; a foot-long hotdog on a steamed bun, smothered in a secret meat sauce, topped with diced raw onion and a ribbon of mustard.”

  “My goodness, this place is a jewel! I am partial to omelets, I must admit. With black coffee, please.”

  “Right away.”

  “Now, what of Jack Halligan? Do you know where I might find him? I’ve heard he frequents this diner.”

  “I’m over here,” called Jack.

  Graves spun to face him. A half smile bent at the corner of his mouth. He met Jack at the booth. They shook hands.

  “Have a seat, Dr. Graves. Welcome to my office-booth.”

  “Yes, thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Halligan.”

  “I was going to say the same. Call me Jack. And sorry about my appearance; I spilled a little coffee a second ago.”

  “Relax,” said Graves calmly. “This isn’t a job interview.”

  Jack chuckled. “That’s a relief.”

  “It’s a job offer.”

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t just sip my coffee. Did you say ‘job offer?’”

  Donna brought their breakfast. “Here you are, Dr. Graves.”

  “My goodness, that was incredibly fast.”

  Donna shrugged. “We have a great team of cooks back there. Oh, and all meals come with complimentary Checkers so you can stay healthy.” She placed a small silver packet on the table near Graves’ fork and knife. “If there’s Malady, we’ll cook you another dish, no charge.” She slid Jack his plate of fried eggs and bacon. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Graves sniffed the meal and smiled. “This is decadence. I am sure I’ll be quite satisfied.”

  Donna winked at Jack and stepped away.

  “There’s a word I can never spell,” said Jack with a mouthful of food. “‘Decadence.’ I always want to put a second A, but it’s actually got three E’s. Like the word ‘cemetery.’ Get it? Graves…cemetery!” He laughed at himself.

  “You’re witty, Jack. I appreciate wit.” Graves took up his fork and knife and cut into the omelet. Jack couldn’t help but notice the surgical cuts and lines Graves made with the smallest of movements. The steel knife parted the omelet’s folds in controlled symmetry. “Your articles in the Karma Daily capture your passion and intelligence. I’ve always enjoyed them. Your writing is rich with honesty and you’ve earned the city’s respect. You’re a leader, Jack. Which is why I want you to write for Graves Enterprises.” He ate a cut of the omelet and smiled.

  “Tempting, but I already have a job.”

  “Perhaps I should clarify,” Graves cleared his throat and sat back in the booth. “It’s been a difficult week for all of us in Sable District and at Graves Enterprises. Professor Crimm was brutally murdered. His death is tragic, horrific and painful for everyone. I’ve learned that you were at the crime scene.”

  “I was there for the story but I think I’ll pass on it. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. Professor Crimm was a trusted colleague and contributed much to our endeavors against Malady. One of his roles was chief technical writer. His work chronicled our progression and detailed our efforts. I’d like you to continue where he left off, only I’d like the work to be less formal and more, well, ‘Halligan’ in nature.”

  “I’m honored. But what exactly will I be writing about?”

  Graves’ cheeks flushed with color. He leaned on his elbows. “We at Sable Tower are nearly ready to announce breakthrough advances against Malady. I want you to pen our accomplishments and do so in a way that will help immortalize the glory of our science. I am about to change the world, Jack. I want you to write it all down.”

  “You’ve found a cure?”

  Graves lowered his voice. “I am hopeful that I can soon answer ‘yes’ to that question.”

  Jack leaned back in his seat, pretending to be calm though his heart drummed with excitement. He switched gears and tossed a loaded statement across the table. “I just heard your vessel blew up last night,” Jack waved a strip of bacon as if it would accentuate his words, “you don’t seem too concerned.”

  “I’m very concerned,” snapped Graves.

  Jack noted the scientist’s sudden flare in intensity.

  “The attack on my operation is being investigated by Sable Guard authorities as I speak. I have the entire waterfront sealed off to ensure public safety and to preserve the integrity of the investigation. I’m also holding an executive staff meeting tomorrow morning to discuss it with my team.”

>   He’s nice and spun up. Time for a probing question. “Why would anyone want to destroy your ship or interfere in your operations?”

  Graves’ nostrils flared and he glanced away, indicators of discomfort. As Jack anticipated, Graves’ reply was a pivot away from the question. “All I know is a great deal of lives were lost. Many dedicated employees were aboard that vessel and now they’re gone. Their families are grieving this morning.”

  Jack restrained the grin begging to curl on his face. The story is just falling into my lap!

  They finished their meals. “What will it be?” Graves asked. “Will you accept my offer and write exclusively for Graves Enterprises? You can name your salary and you’ll receive unlimited stocks of Quell. You’ll also gain access to Sable Tower’s library and lounge should you need a quiet place to write.”

  “Sounds like an amazing offer. Can I mull it over?”

  “I think it best not to delay for long. I’ll give you the rest of the day.”

  Jack’s intuition screamed that Graves’ stoic and rehearsed proposal masked a severe truth. He recalled the word from dead Crimm’s hand— Malad-X. I bet Graves knows all about it. There’s only one way to find out. “Dr. Graves, I accept.”

  “Outstanding! I’d like you to attend the staff meeting if possible. Friday, nine o’clock, Sable Tower.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning, pen in hand.”

  Graves pushed aside his plate, sipped the last of his coffee and dropped a wad of money on the table. Jack followed him to the door where the doctor’s personal assistants waited. The two shook hands and Jack returned to his booth. There, the grotesque apparition of his dead father, Corpse-Dad, waited.

  Corpse-Dad waved in delight, startling the flies that crawled on his papery face. “Morning, son! I think I’m going to order pancakes. You used to love it when I’d cook them for us on Saturdays. I always had to make a smiley face with chocolate chips and syrup or you wouldn’t eat them. Remember?”

  Jack sat down. “Yeah, for some reason, I do remember that.” He pulled his Quell from his pocket but paused. I still don’t like this stuff.