by RJ Plant
Brinly brought us in for a smooth landing and powered the Raider down.
When I grabbed the duffel, I noticed a silver canister—Kaitlyn’s thermos—and her bag of clothes. I grabbed everything and stuck it into the duffel.
The thin mountain air was way better than the Boston atmosphere had been, but there was still a heaviness to it that was wrong for this elevation. A hint of what was below, at sea level, where the atmosphere was so damaged there was nothing left to breathe anymore.
I followed Brinly as she headed for the town. Her mobile rang. She pulled it from her back pocket and looked at it, then at me.
“Yes?” she answered.
I could hear Rian through the tiny speaker pressed against Brinly’s ear.
“Where is Conor?” he asked.
“With me,” she said. “We’re Stateside just at the moment.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“We’re going after Bernard and the server.”
A long pause.
“It’s dangerous, Brinly,” he said. “Conor is dangerous. He’s already killed Seth. Did he tell you that bit?”
“Did he? No, he hadn’t mentioned it. I’m sorry to hear it, but regardless, we’ve got—”
“I’m coming to you,” he said.
“I don’t find that to be a wise decision,” she said, then looked at me. “He hung up on me.”
She put her mobile away.
Mine rang.
“Bernard, server, wouldn’t have killed him if he hadn’t tried to kill me first, you’re not invited,” I said in one breath as a hello.
“You can’t go after Bernard alone,” Rian said.
“Wasn’t that your plan for me to begin with?”
“Things have changed. You present a greater danger than I realized. I won’t have you compromising the safety of my people.”
“Ah, well, Brinly is here to babysit me. And like I said before, Seth was a self-defense case,” I said, which was partially true. The other part being my inability to contain Felix. Which was … not something I wanted to dwell on just now. So instead I said, “And Kaitlyn and Brinly aren’t your people anymore. They’re mine. Or is that the problem? You don’t trust them.”
Rian made an indecipherable noise.
“Things will go more smoothly if I know everyone is following directions,” he said. “I don’t want to have to clean up your mess simply because you feel like doing whatever you want. I’d prefer Shaina to be there. It’s not about trust, boyo, it’s about obedience.”
“Obedience. Right. Shaina is just as likely to kill me as help me,” I said. “Has that become the new plan? Because honestly I would assume by this point you’d just as soon cut your losses.”
“That time might come, but it isn’t here yet. This is bigger than personal feelings, boyo.”
“Is it? Because according to Seth, there’s no cure. It would save time, money, and probably people if you just killed me, Rian. Felix is pretty well dead already, so. Why keep me alive? What’s in it for you?”
“GDI,” Rian said, then hung up.
“Fucking prick,” I muttered. Since when had taking over GDI become the endgame?
Brinly stood quietly, looking at me. Things weren’t right. Plans were changing. How many players were in this game now and what were they all playing for?
Better question: How could I win?
“All right, go on then, ask me,” I said, finally turning all my attention to Brinly. “I know you’re just dying to.”
“You killed Seth,” Brinly said.
“He shot me, we wrestled around a bit, he shot me again. I feel I have the right to defend myself.”
“You might think about doing a better job next time or you could lose a far more important extremity than a pinky finger.”
I stared at her for a moment.
She started walking again. I readjusted the duffel on my shoulder and followed, quite possibly a hair more frightened of her than before.
*****
2 November 2042, Smoky Mountains, Free State of Tennessee, Former
U.S. Territory
Two structures made up the centerpiece of the mountain town. The general store was a large wooden chalet that looked at home beside the cabin hotel that wrapped around it in an L-shape.
Inside, the hotel was little more than a large B&B, cozy—or cramped—with a second building addition that gave it something like twenty or thirty rooms.
We checked in at the desk, the hostess a rotund, silver-haired, and kind-looking woman in plain blue jeans and a red and black plaid flannel shirt.
“You know the drill,” she said to Brinly. “Payment up front, even for you.”
She tapped a list taped to the counter. The hotel apparently accepted the following types of payment: U.S. and any foreign currency, canned goods, fresh food (absolutely nothing that had been frozen), livestock, livestock feed, dairy products, quality fabrics, trade services upon request, including …
“Here’s two nights,” Brinly said, handing the woman U.S. currency. “If we plan to stay longer, I’ll let you know.”
“Of course,” the woman said, handing a silver key to Brinly. “That’ll be room seven. Go right down this hall, to the left, and it’s the last door on the right.”
“We need also fuel,” Brinly said, and handed her another wad of cash.
“It’ll take a day, maybe two. I’ll go on and have it delivered to the helipad,” the woman said.
“You’re a doll,” Brinly said.
“Travel by helicopter much?” I asked.
Brinly just smiled.
We walked down the stark hall, the light from the lamps on sporadically placed tables not reaching the ceiling. You could only turn left at the end of the hall and there were only rooms to the right.
Our room was standard hotel chic: a bed, two tables, a bathroom with a claw-foot tub, a sink, and a toilet. No mirrors. Two lamps. No windows, but a door that led to a wood-fenced patio overlooking the mountain.
I stepped onto the patio and looked out. There was something about the view, a nakedness to the landscape where there should be plants, foliage of some kind, animals.
Life.
Thoroughly depressed, I went back inside and shut the door against the cold.
“We need to get started,” I said.
“What’s the plan?”
“You can get access to the server?”
“I should be able to. What about Bernard?”
“I think Bernard and I can have a polite conversation with no nastiness,” I said. Maybe meeting with Bernard would better shed light on what exactly he was playing at.
“Or killing?”
“Yes. That too.”
“We’ll need an uncompromised agent’s warrant card,” Brinly said. “I doubt mine will get us in.”
“Here,” I said, digging out the warrant card I’d used at the base in Dublin.
“Well, I was going to just knock someone out and steal one, but it looks as though you’re quite prepared.”
“Of course,” I said and smiled brightly at her. “You just need to worry about getting yourself in with no one knowing. Bernard will let me in.”
“You’re very confident,” Brinly said.
“My most charming feature. We need breathers. Stay here and get some rest. I’ll be back.”
Brinly cleared her throat and held out a hand. I looked down at the money in it.
“You spoil me,” I said.
“For the breathers, you narcissist.”
I smiled as I ducked out of the room.
The general store had everything. There were sections with nonperishable food, clothes, toiletries—whatever you functioned on anymore, you got here. Except drink. That was bought across the street at the self-proclaimed pub.
God bless this place.
I got my mobile out and dialed Kaitlyn’s number as I perused the goods.
“Conor?” she answered.
She sounded tired, stres
sed maybe.
“How are you holding up?” I asked, although it hadn’t been more than four hours since Brinly and I had left.
I found the breathers and grabbed two. Obscenely priced, if you asked me, but demand and all …
“Been better. Hang on a minute,” she said, rustling coming across the line as she, presumably, went somewhere with more privacy. “Bill isn’t going to make it. I gave him something for pain, but … I don’t know, I think it’s liver failure.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really a medical doctor in the first place, and without the proper equipment, I’m just not sure.”
“Well, just do what you can to keep him alive as long as you can,” I said.
“Prolong his suffering for our own gain. Yeah, seems fine”
“Doesn’t sound so good when you say it.”
She grew silent. I could imagine her frowning.
“Conor,” she said in that way that meant there was more to follow. I waited. “Did you have to kill Seth?”
“Rian called you then, I take it.”
“He wanted to know where I was,” she said.
“Did you tell him?”
“No. I told him we had a plan, told him to stay at the apartment for now, that we’d contact him soon.”
“All right. Good. That’s good.”
She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her breathing.
“It was self-defense, Kait,” I said. “Would you have rather I let him kill me?”
“No, but—”
“You hardly knew him anyway,” I said.
“But you did,” Kaitlyn said.
“Felix did. There’s a difference. I think I might have some good news for you though,” I said, trying to get back on track.
I didn’t need … guilt.
“That’s something I could use,” she said.
“You left the thermos with Esposito’s sample in the Raider,” I said.
“Oh, Conor, that is good news. Now if only I had the blood.”
“Would tissue work?”
“It should. Why? What do you …” she said, then after a pause, “Oh, no. No. You did not.”
“Oh, but I did,” I said.
“You’ve been carrying that finger around since we left? That’s disgusting.”
“But can you use it?”
“If you preserve it before it rots,” she said.
“What if I put it in with Esposito’s sample?”
“You’d need to put it in something to protect it from the liquid nitrogen.”
“Anything I could get from a general store?”
She told me what to get, then explained how to keep the digit safe.
“Right,” I said. “I’ve got to go now, Kait. You call me if there’re any problems.”
“Be safe,” she said.
I disconnected and put my mobile away. I paid for everything, went back to the hotel, and found Brinly soaking in the bathtub with the door open.
I dumped everything onto the bed and grabbed the thermos from the duffel. I took my severed pinky from my pocket and set it on the bed, then got to work.
I dropped the pinky in an amber medicine bottle made from acrylic glass. Then I set down ten sheets of plastic wrap in small squares, one on top of another, placed the bottle at one edge and rolled inward, tucking the edges of the plastic wrap in.
Once it was wrapped up, I took out a condom from its box and opened it. I unrolled it and stuck the bottled-plastic-wrapped finger into it, then tied it off like a balloon. I grabbed the stockings package and ripped it open, taking one out and throwing the bottle-plastic-condom-wrapped finger in. I tied it off.
I opened the thermos and slowly set the finger in, leaving part of the stocking on the outside of the container, next to the protruding portion of latex glove. I put the lid on the thermos and checked and double checked that it was one hundred percent shut tight all the way before putting it back in the duffel, trying to position it so it stayed right side up.
I grabbed Brinly’s mobile from the nightstand and walked into the bathroom. I knelt by the bathtub.
“I need you to do something for me,” I said to her.
Her body was obscured only slightly by the water. She turned, resting on her hip and crossing her arms on the edge of the bathtub. Her hair was pulled back from her neck in a clip, loosely now, making her face look softer than I’d seen it before.
“This is a sacred time, you know,” she said.
“I’m sure it is.” I patted her hand. “I need you to call Rian. Make sure he goes back to Belfast and tell him to stay put until he hears from me.”
“Are you going to tell me why?”
“No.” I handed her the mobile. “You should wear that more often by the way.”
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
22
November 2, 2042, Smoky Mountains, Free State of Tennessee, Former
U.S. Territory
Showing up to Bernard’s empty handed would not have been a good idea. So I was going to give him Rian, giftwrapped with a bow. Or, more accurately, I was going to give him Rian’s location. Bernard’s response would depend greatly on whether or not he saw Rian as a threat. I was betting I could make that happen.
I pulled my jacket on, grabbed the duffel, and met Brinly at the front of the hotel.
“Where are we going to get a roller?” I asked.
“There’s a lift that will take us down the mountain,” Brinly said. “The transportation liaison is at the rest area there.”
“Transportation liaison …”
“We can’t all travel via stolen Raider, can we? She provides means of travel for those who would otherwise be unable.”
“Right. And is this liaison also affiliated with Truepenny?”
Brinly smiled but didn’t answer, leaving me wondering again who the hell these people were. And why I’d never heard of them before.
The lift was across the street to the right of the bar. There was someone in the booth to monitor the comings and goings, but the lift wasn’t for profit. At least not the going out end of things. We waited for a bench, sitting when it hit the back of our legs. The lift was crude, no safety accompaniments. That was fine; I didn’t particularly feel like leaning over to peer at the depressing view.
“You don’t look so good,” Brinly said.
“I’m fine,” I said. “How long will it take us to get to Birmingham?”
“Around five or six hours, depending on road conditions.”
“A mention of that sooner would have been helpful.”
“Why? Are you expecting someone?”
“I’m expecting Bernard to actually be there when we arrive,” I said, still trying to work out my plan.
“He should be, but you’re right. We should have gone straight there with no detour.”
I gave her a look and she lifted a shoulder in a half shrug but didn’t add anything else.
The air was starting to get thicker. I put my breather on. Brinly did too. The difference was remarkable, like a rock being lifted off my chest.
The few trees left standing were dead. They looked weak, brittle. There were no leaves on the ground, more evidence that the trees had been dead for years. The ground was barren, just a few shades lighter than black. No snow here, just a mixture of biting cold and an overwhelming pressure that burned the naked skin.
The lift deposited us on the ground just a few feet away from a large warehouselike structure. There were no windows, just reinforced aluminum siding as far as the eye could see. We entered through a single door that pressure-sealed behind us, then stepped through a set of double doors—also pressure sealed—and immediately air rushed around me. We took our breathers off.
“Morning y’all. Anything I can help with?” a dark-haired young man asked in a heavy accent.
He was short and thin, in a baggy light blue polo and black slacks that looked more than a little well worn. His sh
oes, once-white trainers.
“We need to see Olwen Edwards,” Brinly said.
“’Course. I can help y’all with that,” he said. “Just follow me right over here.”
The building’s interior was one very large, very bright room, with smaller rooms here and there, mostly sectioned off by dividers instead of actual walls. There were sleeping areas, restrooms, a cantina. People were milling about the warehouse-slash-rest-area, buying coffee or using the restroom or stretching their legs. This was a place to rest and breathe, to just be around people, to feel normal before continuing out on the wrecked road.
“Over here” was a room completely shut off from the rest—no makeshift walls for this woman. Blue Shirt waved at a couple of seats just outside the office, then ran off. Well, he walked off, but at a faster pace than I was comfortable with.
“Was he going to tell her we’re here?” I asked.
“I already apprised her of our intended arrival time. She’s not the kind of woman you want to surprise.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Brinly.” The voice was rich and gravelly, and sounded highbred like Brinly’s.
We turned as one. An older woman stood in the doorway, her hands cradled—one atop the other, palms up—in front of her. She had a thick mass of neatly coifed white hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore a long cream-colored sweater that hinted at a still very capable body underneath. I pegged her for a former field agent. Black slacks covered her legs and blended with black boots.
Her face was well-aged and attractive despite the scar that started at her left temple and traced across her face, coming to an end at her right check. Her left eye was whited out, unseeing, but the right was a dark blue. High cheekbones, a narrow nose, and a slender neck gave her a regal appearance.
“Olwen,” Brinly said, rising to give the older woman a fierce hug. “I’m glad you got my message.”
“Come in, come in. And your companion.”
The office was more like a situation room, chalkboards full of writing and corkboards tacked with notecards and photographs. Maps were strewn about the conference-size desk.
“Conor Quinn this is Olwen Edwards,” Brinly said.
“GDI’s prize chimera,” Olwen said, looking me over.