City In Embers

by Stacey Marie Brown

  “He’s not getting fast food again.” Ryker jumped, moving toward the fresh air.

  I followed Ryker to the open doors.

  “Damn.” Ryker held his nose in the crook of his arm, shaking his head at the figure on the bed. “How does something so smelly come from something so small?”

  I pushed away the odd moment Ryker and I almost did or didn’t have. A strange moment meant to be ignored. The saying “saved by the bell”—well, we were saved by monkey farts.

  I couldn’t be more thankful to Sprig and his indigestion of greasy processed food.

  NINETEEN

  The morning brought more rain. Seattle. Some days I thought I’d lose my mind if it rained one more minute, the clouds working as a co-conspirator and hiding the sun. Other times, mostly when I was warm inside looking out, I loved it. Today was not one of those days. I reached my peak of being cold, wet, and dirty.

  Ryker seemed especially silent and Sprig overly chatty. Both were driving me nuts. For once I didn’t feel anger bursting off Ryker, but he was in an odd mood. I couldn’t pin it down. I would find him covertly glancing at me, but I could not decipher the meaning in his looks.

  The trek was long to the care facility where Daniel Senior lived. As we traveled, I noticed the number of homeless seemed to be growing every time I turned my head. Groups of people were huddled in crude shelters they had erected. They were digging through trash or trying to set traps for rats and pigeons as food. The Red Cross shelters had only so much room, and some people preferred not to go there, wanting to fend for themselves.

  Help could already be seen in the downtown area. Fire departments and volunteers worked different areas, and dogs hunted for live or dead bodies under buildings. The need was still too great and not enough hands or money. Sadly, the poorer the area the less likely any help would be coming for them, not for a long while anyway.

  We walked through several tent cities on our way. People huddled together under tarps with fires they built in whatever could hold it without burning itself up. They stared at us, leery of why we were traveling through. Some ignored us, and others came out to us, like guard dogs, telling us to continue—there was no place for us here.

  The other things I noticed throughout the city, especially downtown, were the memorials laid out. Flowers, pictures, or some kind of memento were left in the place where a person lost a loved one. The pictures of children stuck in my mind the most. From the last report I heard, the death toll had risen. During the last few weeks, the lists of missing switched to accounts of the dead. Watching firemen pull body after body from collapsed buildings sent more chills along my spine.

  It was crazy that one storm could cause so much devastation. The fae who created this destruction, I wanted to hunt down. But killing them would be too good or easy. This fae did not deserve a quick death. I wanted to shoot them in the legs with fae bullets and watch the Otherworld metal slowly poison them.

  After hours and hours of walking, we finally made it to the facility where Daniel’s father lived. “There.” Ryker pointed to the one-story accommodation but steered us in a severe curve, heading for the back. I could see security and nurses milling around the front.

  There was no electricity here, but this facility had huge generators, keeping most things going. My eyes widened when I saw they were government issued. Normally, it wouldn’t have fazed me, but I felt it wasn’t a coincidence. Every other place we saw in the city or along the way worked without auxiliary power. Why would a place way out here have it and not the ones in the city? My intuition told me it had to do entirely with who was being kept here.

  “It’s up to you to get in and find him without being caught. I figure most of the people living there will have a bedroom window. Sprig will go in with you. He will come find me to let me know where you are. I can sense you but won’t be able to pinpoint the exact room.” Ryker and I walked to the rear of the property. It had a tall wooden fence with a wire wrapped around on top surrounding the backyard. It was probably enough to keep the type of clientele they had inside. To me it was laughable. “I don’t have a good feeling about this place. And I’d like to keep you in my sight.”

  I nodded, preferring him to be there. I had a bad reaction to the facility, as well. Its vibe felt odd. My intuition pricked the hairs on my arms.

  “Let’s do this. Ready, Sprig?” I opened my satchel.

  He covered one eye and saluted me. “Eye, Matty.”

  “It’s aye, matey.”

  “Then who is Matty?” He angled his head.

  “There is no Matty. Or an eye.”

  “Of course, Matty has no eye. He’s a pirate.” Sprig rolled his eyes like duh.

  I blew some air, looking at the sky. “Cutting off your TV.”

  “Simpson says what?” he screeched.

  “Simon says...”

  “Who is Simon?”

  “Stop. Both of you.” Ryker interrupted my reply. “Get going.” He nodded toward the fence. We selected a spot near a tree. It would disguise us as we climbed over.

  We moved quietly to the building. We snuck along the back till we found a window cracked open. The room was dark and vacant. I pushed up the glass. “Okay, Sprig, as soon as she locates him, come get me.” Ryker spoke sternly to my bag.

  Sprig was about to give Ryker a hand gesture before I closed it.

  Ryker lifted me and helped me slide through the upper window. I landed on the other side, keeping low. I gave Ryker one last look before I slipped from the room and down the hall.

  My awareness was high and fixed on every noise, every squeak of someone’s shoe on the laminated flooring. In the first room lay a woman, at least in her seventies. She stared into space. Vacant. In the second room rested an old man. I knew from Daniel’s picture on his shelf what his father looked like—very similar to his son, even the piercing blue eyes.

  A squeak of a cart came from the hallway.

  Hell.

  I ducked into the nearest room, closing the door.

  “Who are you?” I swung around. A gray-haired woman sat in the bed staring at me. “Are you my daughter?”

  “No, ma’am,” I whispered, shaking my head.

  “I don’t know you.” Her voice went louder. “You’re not my nurse. I know my nurse. Are you my daughter?” Her hands twisted around a cloth handkerchief. She became more confused and anxious.

  “No—”

  Her scream cut off my answer. “Nurse!” she shrieked.

  Holy shit! I needed to get away from here. I’d never been comfortable with older people. Kids, fine, but old people made me uncomfortable. Her shouting only heightened it.

  I could hear commotion from the hallway. I took the opportunity and darted across the corridor and into a janitor’s closet, closing it as I saw figures come around the corner. Pressed together, my lips held back even a trickle of air. A sliver of light leaked around the edges of the door. Sprig popped his head out, and I rubbed his soft fur, more to soothe me than him.

  “What’s wrong, Mrs. Thorn?” A woman’s voice tried to speak over the woman’s shrieks. “You need to be calm.”

  “Someone was here. I did not know her.”

  “Okay.” The nurse was not really listening, only trying to get her to settle down.

  “I didn’t know her,” Mrs. Thorn repeated, letting out a shaky breath.

  “It was probably our new nurse, Stephanie. Remember I came in here with her yesterday?”

  It broke my heart to hear this woman. She babbled on for a while, not sure anymore what or who she saw. The nurse finally left in search of some medication to help her sleep.

  I slipped from the closet and ran, shaking from the experience. Alzheimer’s was a horrible disease—soul sucking for both sides, whether it happened to you or you were watching it happen to someone you loved.

  I snaked along another hallway. Two rooms in, I found who I was searching for.

  Daniel Senior sat in a wheelchair staring out the window. His hair wa
s still thick and white, kept well clipped and smoothed back. You could see he had been quite handsome when he was younger. Now, it appeared no one lived inside.

  “Sprig,” I whispered. He came out of my bag and hopped to the floor. “The room next door is empty; go out the window there.”

  He chirped and took off.

  I needed Mr. Holt to be as coherent as possible. Not sure if seeing a monkey would help or hurt my cause, I needed to be on the safe side.

  “Mr. Holt?” I took a tentative step into the room. I didn’t want a repeat of Mrs. Thorn. “I’m a friend of your son, Daniel.” He continued to stare. I took another step, shutting the door. “Mr. Holt, do you know who Daniel is?”

  His neck turned to me. “I had a son named Daniel... no, David.” He rubbed angrily at his forehead.

  I grabbed an empty chair and pulled it to him. “My name is Zoey, Mr. Holt.” I sat. “I knew your son.”

  “I had a son?” He slanted his head. His memories seemed to be drifting in and out, none landing securely in his mind. How horrid to lose yourself this way: to slowly misplace your memories and the ability to recognize your own family, to not even remember your own name or if you liked ice cream.

  “You had two sons, Mr. Holt.” I placed my hands on his.

  He stared at my fingers touching his before he looked up. Crisp blue eyes, Daniel’s eyes, stared into mine. Recognition took over the vague emptiness that had filled them only a moment before. “It’s-it’s you.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t believe this. I would know you anywhere.”

  “Who?” I leaned forward in my chair. “How do you know me?”

  He continued to stare at me before his interest vanished out the window, watching the small birds twitter and fly.

  “Mr. Holt, who do you think I am?” I touched him again, wanting to draw his attention back. It didn’t work. Frustration crept along my spine. It was not his fault, but time was limited, and I needed to understand why Daniel had sent me here. I squeezed his fingers. “Mr. Holt?”

  His head whipped around, shifting up higher in his chair. “Doctor. Doctor Holt. I am a much-acclaimed doctor.”

  “Okay, Doctor Holt. Please, I need to know why Daniel told me to come here. What do you know about DMG?” Three letters. This was all it took to claim his attention.

  His eyes widened, his shoulders rammed the backrest of his wheelchair. “No.” He peered around nervously. “Never say their name. They are always watching. Always listening.”

  The burden expanded in my stomach like soap bubbles in the laundry. “I don’t understand. How are you connected to them?”

  Fear seemed to stabilize his wandering mind. His focus sharpened. “You don’t have much time. You should not even be alive. Get away from them while you can. Daniel never listened to me. He didn’t want to leave you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Holt gripped my hands painfully. “I am very sorry. If I knew what they really wanted to do with you guys... you were only babies.” He swallowed, his jugular throbbing. “In my youth, I had been cocky and reckless. I was one of the best in medical research. I-I didn’t see what I was really getting into. After you, I wanted out. I destroyed all the DNA codes. I wanted to tell the world what they were doing.” Liquid lined the rim of his lids. “They had my David killed to keep me quiet and prove their hold over me. After my wife’s death, they put me in here and recruited Daniel as an agent.” His lips quivered. “I am sorry.”

  Muscles in my chest clenched, letting only a sliver of air into my lungs. DMG murdered David? Daniel told me his brother was killed in combat. Was he concealing the facts, or was it something he thought true? If Daniel knew or not, David’s death wasn’t why I was here.

  “What do you mean, ‘after’ me? What were they doing?”

  “I am extremely sorry, Zoey. Please forgive me!” He looked stressed, his eyes bugging out.

  “W-what?” I stuttered. I gulped, my throat tightening. “What are you sorry about?”

  A tear slipped down the old man’s face. “I-I can’t... everyone I loved is gone. They are stealing my mind...” His eyes clouded, a void growing between his mind and reality.

  Hell, I was losing him.

  “Mr. Holt.” My tone was approaching anger. “Tell me about the DMG.”

  His lids drifted close, and for a few moments I thought he had fallen asleep. His tongue dampened his bottom lip. “I named you. You were almost lost, like the rest of them. But you were strong and determined to live. Zoey means life.” He touched his throat, his voice thick. “Only a few of you survived.”

  “You named me?” What was he talking about?

  He rotated his head to look outside. Drifting.

  “Doctor Holt. Sir.” I pulled on his arm.

  “You lived.” He sighed, his lids floated shut briefly.

  “What do you mean I lived?” I asked.

  “You are special, Zoey. Daniel stayed there to protect you while he found a way to destroy them. They are not what you think.” He twisted, scratching at the drawer at his bedside table. He opened it and lifted a false bottom. “Here.” He picked up something and shoved an object into my palm. I opened my hand. A small key sat there. “Quick. Hide it before they see.” He anxiously watched the door, his hands shaking with distress. I slipped it into my pocket, which made his anxiety lessen. “I was good. I remembered.” A little boy smile full of pride widened his expression. “Daniel would be quite pleased with me.” He seemed like a kid, basking in the glow of a father’s pride, instead of the other way around. Though it had been many years, the roles had reversed, and Daniel Junior was the father and Senior was the child. Did he even know Daniel was dead?

  He closed his eyes again. “You’d be so proud of me, Danny. I did what you asked,” he whispered quietly.

  “What does the key unlock? What’s it for?”

  Daniel’s lashes flicked up, his expression blank. At seeing me, worry consumed. His eyes darted nervously. “Who are you? Nurse!”

  “It’s me, Zoey.” I placed my hand on his.

  He jerked out of my grip, his body wiggled fretfully. Agitation had him rocking in his chair; a soft whimper escaped his lips. It was awful to watch the decline of the man sitting across from me, to witness the deterioration of his mind. He no longer recognized me. I was a stranger. I could not imagine how Daniel felt every time he visited his father, how horrible it must have been to go from son to a stranger. To see the man you had admired as a boy, the strong military doctor, reduced to a frightened child.

  Footsteps clipped the cheap tile floor before a heavyset nurse stepped into the room. “I’m here, Mr. Holt.” She froze at seeing me. A tray teetered in her hands at the sudden stop. It was filled with a cup of orange juice and various medicines. “Hey! Who are you? What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here.” Her authoritative voice echoed off the blank walls. “Guards!”

  Damn it.

  I hopped up, rushing to the window, my only exit. My fingers dug into the frame as I tugged at the ledge. Voices heightened around me, and more footsteps pounded the hallway. I tugged forcibly at the glass. It didn’t budge.

  Ryker’s face popped into view. His eyes widened, responding to whatever stood behind me. “Back up!” I did what he said.

  A blade slammed into the window, cracking the glass into tiny veins. Ryker’s axe crashed again into the spider web of shards. The glass shattered, spraying into the room like rain. I ducked, covering my head against the blizzard of pieces. Nicks of pain hit my hands and cheek. Blood burst from the cuts, dripping down my arms and neck.

  “Zoey!” Ryker’s voice boomed from the other side of the window. I dropped my arm and saw the nurse and guards still cowered in the corner, protecting their faces from the flying shards. I didn’t hesitate. I dashed for the hole in the window. More pain ripped through me as small pieces of glass slashed through my clothes, slicing me.

  Ryker stuffed his axe behind his back in its holder, his arms reaching to he
lp me through the opening. His hands fit under my arms, pulling me up. A guard sprang toward us, snatching something from the floor and going for Ryker. The glass glinted in the outside light as the man turned his wrist toward Ryker’s neck.

  No!

  The word shot through my mind, but didn’t make it out of my mouth in time. Ryker swiftly jerked out of the man’s way, but I was still in his arms. Caught off balance, Ryker let me go and fell back. I tumbled over the sharp debris across the casement and fell on him. The guard jumped on the ledge, then to us.

  “They warned us someone might come here for him.” The tall dark-haired man re-gripped the large fragment of glass. He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. It seemed clear they were told to dispatch whoever came to speak to Daniel Holt Sr.

  My reaction was slower than Ryker’s, which cost us. He tossed me from him, rolling from underneath me. The guard’s arm went back and fell heavily, the shard aiming for Ryker’s heart. Ryker barely had enough time to twist, his side taking the brunt of the attack. Blood sprayed, coating my face like icing. The man grabbed another chunk of the window, peering at me. “I can’t let you escape.”

  Out of nowhere, a little brown object leaped on the man’s head. Squealing and hissing, Sprig clawed at the guard’s face. The guard’s arms flung widely until he hit Sprig, knocking him off his head. Sprig flew across the lawn.

  A roar rumbled from Ryker’s chest. He jumped up, hauling his broad axe out in one fluid motion. The weight of the weapon put speed into his swing. Like chopping a juicy watermelon in half, the guard’s head severed from his neck with little effort. It tumbled onto the dirt before his body followed. A high-pitched scream pierced my eardrums. The nurse, still hunched in the corner, screeched like a howler monkey.

  Ryker shoved his weapon into its case and spun to me. He tore the glass sticking out of his side with a firm yank. He swore and mumbled a few things in another language. His breath was ragged. “We have to go.”

  My feet were lead, cemented in the ground. My eyes regarded the man’s head.