Heavenfall: Genviants Book 1

by Franklin, TG

  "You're welcome. But I still don't agree with your decision. You shouldn't go looking for your family alone. It's too dangerous, and will be more dangerous after the wave hits. Stran would be an asset to you, protect you against people who'd lie to you, or try to take advantage of you."

  "No. We stick to the deal." How could she explain to Dex, to anyone, why she'd chosen to do it alone? The story she'd told everyone? Bogus. Her family left without her because they feared her. They didn't want to be found. Thanks to Brother Samuel, her parents believed psychic ability was akin to the mark of the beast and didn't waste any opportunity to tell her so, or to make the sign of the cross when she walked into a room. Or brandish real crosses at her like she was some kind of vampire. And the interventions? The worst. All those strangers praying over her, laying their hands on her. Admonishing her to renounce the evil inside her soul.

  How appropriate that she'd gotten her psychic powers in a church.

  Her brother would call it ironic. Only twelve years old and already having the headaches. He'd managed to keep them hidden from their parents, but when Mary and Jonah got the codes and boosted the web to full power, her brother might not be able to hide the effects of the transformation any longer. If her parents abandoned him, left him alone to face a brain blast and the wave....

  Best not to think about it now.

  And when Stran's power developed from reading simple emotions by a touch to full on telepathy, he'd know. He'd see her lies, and her hatred, and how could Stran love her once he saw the darkness inside her? No. Better that everyone, especially Stran, think she's dead.

  "Okay. Think you can walk on your own?"

  The double meaning of his question didn't escape her notice. "Yes, I'm sure. Let's get out of here."

  They made their way down the hall to the sanctuary. The pews, lectern, and choir seats had all been scavenged, and black, charred spots covered the wood floor where hymnals were burned. Pieces of the books laid scattered across the floor. One torn page had a few words she recognized from Amazing Grace. Unlike her parents, she wasn't much into prophetic signs, but she figured she'd never be more lost than she was right now, and maybe grace would lead her to her brother. She reached down to pick it up, but as soon as the thought entered her mind, the paper floated up from the floor and into her hand.

  "Telekinesis?" Despite what she'd always told Stran about not caring what her psychic ability would be, she had to admit that telekinesis was pretty cool. And she had questions. Could she move any object, or did her ability have a weight limit? Could she unlock or untie? Could she control it, like swinging a bat twenty feet away from her?

  "Come on, we don't have much time."

  She followed him to the altar and the ambulatory to another hallway which led to a back door.

  A member of the Bobcats guarded the entrance. "It's good to see someone walking out of here for a change." He slid the thick bolt out of its catch and opened the door.

  Freedom. She took a deep breath of it. The door scraped closed behind her, and she closed her eyes, envisioned the lock, and concentrated on moving it.

  "What the hell?" The guy's voice drifted through the door followed by the loud clank of the bolt being slammed back into place.

  They'd exited into what was once a prayer garden. Dead rose vines covered the stone pathways and crunched under her feet. A wrought iron bench lay rusted and mangled in the weeds. Bits and pieces of crumbled statuary filled the little fountain. A Bible rested on the rim. Evidence that someone had sought peace here recently. She hoped they'd found it.

  Dex stepped around the rubble and stopped at the gate. "Are you sure about this? My information on your brother's location isn't reliable. There's still time to meet up with Ursula and Niko at the rendezvous point."

  "I've got to try to find him. Just tell me what you know."

  Dex pushed on the gate. The hinges protested with a harsh screech, but surrendered to Dex's strength. "Satellite surveillance is sketchy. The tracking device you planted in your brother's stuff is still working, but the signal is intermittent. We lost them just west of Jackson about eight days ago. Even if they stay close to the interstate, catch a ride or two, they can't be any farther than Memphis." He stepped through the opening and waited. "The good news is that you should be able to reach Memphis in less than a day if you take the crotch rocket you have hidden in your parent's garage. The interstates are in better shape once you get past Cookeville and head into middle Tennessee. Hadrian keeps ours busted up to discourage travel around here, and gas should be easier to get, too." He stopped at the car and leaned against the door. "The bad news is that the wave is expected to hit about the same time."

  She followed him out of the garden without asking how he knew about the bike. "You know, you still haven't told me what you get out of this deal."

  "I'll tell you when you come back."

  "Then you're screwed, because once I find Grady, I'm going to keep on riding. To Portland or Seattle, maybe. I've always wanted to see the northwest."

  His smug impression said he didn't believe her. "I'll be at the med center on Middlebrook."

  "And I'll be somewhere between Knoxville and Nashville, but good luck." She took off at a light jog, not wanting to stick around and listen to any more of Dex's cryptic conversation. The bike was gassed up and ready to roll. All she had to do was grab her backpack and hit the road.

  ***

  It never failed to stun Mary, the difference between west Knoxville and the fringes. Almost as if the riots had never happened in this part of the city. The people who lived here had more money. Better access to the supply chains, food and medicine. Plus, it didn't hurt that a lot of them worked for Palisade and other Oak Ridge facilities, or the county government. All by Hadrian's design. He'd taken advantage of the panic and confusion when the wave had first been discovered. Displaced a huge chunk of the populace for his big wigs while the military seized Oak Ridge. Hadrian's control over the military happened gradually. A special order from the president gave Hadrian command of a small force for Palisade security. He meched them out, and word spread. It didn't take long before the volunteers started showing up, and his small force grew into a personal army. Rumor was that Palisade used more resources manufacturing mech components than controller components.

  Grudgingly, Mary gave him his props and reminded herself that Hadrian wasn't stupid. He'd engineered a good plan.

  From the outside, Sensations looked like an average combo bar and strip club. A plain white sign with red lettering marked its location, and the words "Live Dancers" painted across the front of building. They pulled into the parking lot and circled around the building. No windows on the front, two small windows on the left side. Probably bathrooms. Double doors split the building in half, one marked as the entrance. If they had muscle on the door, he was perched inside. Looked like about twelve cars in the parking lot. A decent crowd, considering the time, and she'd bet more than a few people had walked in. She doubted the dancers were on stage this early in the day, so most of the patrons were probably stim junkies or heavy drinkers.

  David backed the bike in a spot between two cars parked in front of the building and cut the engine. Not really a parking space. The cars left a wide gap between them, and it was just big enough for the bike, plus it kept the bike partially hidden. A quick glance confirmed that Michael and Ella and the other riders were in place.

  They dismounted and walked to the door. "Pay attention, Princess. You don't trust anybody in this place. And when we go in, you stick with me and don't say a word. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "And when we go through the security arch, you go first. If it makes me as mech, you run like hell and get that drive in a port and then get out. You don't even think about waiting for me, or trying to help me." He handed her the keys to the bike. "Listen. If anything goes down in there, anything at all, you hightail it out. Michael is keeping watch from across the street. If you come out alone and he can't make it to you
in time, you take the bike. Don't look back. And don't worry about ditching the bike when you jump to John." He grinned at her. "Just try not to scratch it up too bad, okay?"

  "David, I can't..." she started to protest, but he ignored her and opened the door.

  Hot air, weighted with cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap beer, wafted over them in the entryway followed by the strains of some country ballad from the jukebox. David stopped in front of the arch and nodded to the muscle, who sat on a stool with his back propped against the wall, eyes half closed, and arms crossed over his chest.

  Peeking over David's shoulder, she surveyed the place. In the right corner, away from the light given off from the overheads, a stage jutted out of the floor, about three feet high, and boasting four sections. As she suspected, no dancers contorted their way around the poles, and she felt a twinge of disappointment that her curiosity wouldn't be satisfied. Plain, wooden tables surrounded the stage, and a horseshoe shaped bar stood in the center of the bar and provided a divider. The lone bartender handed a couple of bottles to a waitress who meandered through the scattering of tables to the left and delivered the brew to a group of blue collar guys. Probably on their lunch break.

  "You two don't look like our normal clientele." The muscle straightened on the stool.

  "First time here. We've got business downstairs. Wouldn't mind pointing the way, would you?" David took hold of her elbow and stepped toward the arch.

  The man's arm whipped out and blocked them. "I'm not seeing controller hardware." He gave their face tats a long, hard look. "And we don't allow members of mech gangs inside." He pointed to the security arch. "Mech detector. We're not going to have any trouble, are we?"

  "Nope. Guy downstairs wants some real to augment his stim program. Just delivering the goods."

  "You want the door in the back left corner. Stairs lead down to the stim bar." Muscle guy leered at her and reached out to touch her face. "The tat's kinda hot. Maybe when she's finished downstairs, she could augment my program. How much?"

  David grabbed the guy's wrist. "Sorry, dude. I'm just the delivery boy. You wanna touch, you gotta deal with Dex first. She's his property."

  Muscle guy's face reddened when David mentioned Dex, but his expression changed to a look of understanding. "Hey, are you two defects?"

  "What?" David's grip tightened.

  "Did you defect from a gang?"

  "It's defector." Asshole, David added under his breath. "And no, we didn't defect from a gang."

  Muscle guy pulled his hand free, shook it out, and steadied himself back on the stool. "Sheez, don't take it so personal. It's no skin off mine either way. But it don't matter who she belongs to, if you two cause any trouble down there, both of you are out on your asses. Understand?"

  David nodded. "Job's waiting, Princess."

  Holding her breath, eyes on her destination, she stepped through the arch and kept walking. The guys with the beers must've overheard David's exchange with the guy, because they all scooted their chairs so they faced her as she walked past them. One man used his tongue and his beer bottle to let her know exactly what he wanted her to do. Bile rose in the back of her throat, but she managed to stay in character. She slowed when she reached their table and offered the men a smile and a wink. Couldn't hurt to have them on her side if things went south. They might run some interference for her if she needed to leave quick.

  "Keep it moving, Princess."

  No alarms, thank God. Relief lightened her step and widened her smile.

  The stim bar wasn't anything like she expected. Rows of cubicles spanned the length of the building, had to be at least sixty or seventy stations, and the only light came from the tiny comp screens. People sat tethered to the control panels in various states of consciousness. Their bodies twitched, bounced, fought, or writhed with the artificial emotions being pumped into their brains. Some cried, some sang, and a handful, maybe six or seven, were openly having sex. Only a one or two of the partners were prostitutes. Looked like the rest of them were wives, or husbands. Their touches were slower, more deliberate, more intimate, than the automatic responses from the professionals. And none of the partners acknowledged Mary and David's presence in the room. Probably thought they were there for the same reasons and looking for an empty comp to hook into.

  "This place gives me the jitters. Nobody has their eyes open. And why aren't any pictures on the screens? It's like they're all hypnotized or something."

  "Seeing ruins the fantasy, princess. The stim programs are designed to tap into the visual cortex. Pumps the images, hell everything, smells, sounds, touches, directly into their brains."

  "No wonder they get addicted." A shiver crawled across her skin, even though the lack of good circulation and the press of so many bodies stifled the air and made the space hot. "Let's find a port, get the virus uploaded, and get out."

  David glanced over the room. "I don't see any open comps close. The screens are time indicators. A full stimulation session starts with blue, counts down to red. Look for an open comp, or one with an orange or red screen. You take the right, and I'll take the left. Whistle if you find one."

  They separated, moved through the rows, and met at the back of the room.

  "I got nothing," Mary said.

  "Me neither."

  "What do we do now? Wait? Break some controller's connection?"

  "It would be messy to break a connection. They've got to come down slow, or it messes them up. The program gets caught in the hardware and keeps looping or something. I don't understand it, but I've seen the effects. At first you think it can't be that bad, you know, to have some emotion rattling around in the mind." He wiggled his fingers next to his temple. "I mean, most people do, right? But controllers, their brains don't function like most people's. Brain starts rejecting the emotion, 'cause it's not supposed to be there. All those images and stuff start bleeding out and mixing with what's physically happening around them. Drives them batshit crazy. Can't escape the hallucinations, and then they go comatose. They can't speak, or move, but in their eyes? You can see they're terrified. Hadrian's favorite form of discipline."

  "Okay, so we wait. I saw a couple of yellow screens. Maybe they're close to being orange."

  "Can't wait too long, though." He leaned against the wall and pulled his lighter out of his pocket. Not a disposable, but an old Zippo he'd inherited from his grandfather. "The guy at the door? I got the feeling he might just come down here with his hope in his hands to watch you work while he jacks his pathetic dick off in a corner." The click of the lighter's top opening and closing accentuated each word.

  "But I'm not doing—oh."

  "Yeah, and when he sees you not doing anything, I'll have to kick his ass." The loud click of his lighter closing echoed through the room. "On principle for thinking about you that way, then I’d have to kick it again so he wouldn't run back upstairs and rat us out, and I don't know if my arms can take it. Plus, the longer we have to wait, the better the chances we get caught."

  "But if we break a connection, we're no better than Hadrian."

  "Never claimed to be, Princess."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jonah kept his head down as he entered the med center and tried not to draw the attention of the people around him. The leather jacket covered his biomechanics, but the dragon skin tat covering the left side of his face drew a few stares. One mother pulled her toddler out of the play area and kept the squirming, crying boy on her lap. Like he'd hurt a kid. If Jonah had time, he'd let the little boy examine the tat, trace it with his sticky fingers. Kids might be a little scared, at first, but their fascination and natural curiosity usually won out over the fear.

  And they didn't judge.

  He winked at the boy and walked to the reception desk.

  The young woman nodded to acknowledge his presence, but didn't look up from her comp screen. "May I help you?" A stack of forms with creases and bent corners sat to her left, and files were scattered over the area. A half emp
ty coffee cup sat next to the keyboard.

  "Jonah Sullivan. I have an appointment."

  "Oh." She stopped typing, stood, and grabbed her cup. "Follow me, please."

  She turned and walked straight to a pair of double doors behind her. "The surgical suite is prepped and ready."

  The change of scenery startled him. Behind the doors, the faded colors of the waiting area that attempted to be cheerful, but often failed, changed to stark white, and the temperature dropped by about ten degrees. The receptionist's heels clicked against the tile floor as she hurried down the hallway, and the smell of antiseptic permeated the air. Nurses, interns, and medics hustled, dodging carts, gurneys, and others to get to their destinations. A different kind of life and death deal than those in the fringes, or on the wall, but life and death all the same.

  At the first station, the receptionist handed him over to a nurse. "Take real good care of Mr. Sullivan, Trish. He's one of our special patients."

  Trish plastered a fake smile on her face and tapped data into her porta-comp. "This way." She nestled the tablet in the crook of arm and stepped from behind the counter. "The surgical team and surgeons are waiting in sterile containment for the go ahead. They're very excited."

  "Excuse me? Surgeons? More than one."

  "Of course. The procedures are scheduled for simultaneous execution. Not something we do often around here due to Palisade oversight. We've applied for permission in the past from their Med Board, and they've turned us down almost every time." She turned a corner. "You're a lucky man." She waited a beat. The curiosity, blatant in her eyes, turned to resignation when he stayed silent. "Anyway, the lobectomy and the implantations utilize the latest in laser, optical, and video assisted surgical methods. With the advances made in the past few years, the procedures are practically non-invasive. You shouldn't be 'under the knife' for more than an hour or so, and post-op recovery should last about the same amount of time."

  He'd seen a lot of blood and guts injuries over the last couple of years. Always considered himself as someone with a cast iron stomach. But if she mentioned sterile, execution, or knife one more time in her false 'cheerful voice', he was going to lose it.