Nox

by E. R. Torre

  General Spradlin abruptly stopped talking. In the corner of the Sergeant’s computer pad was a live stream of the Big City news and the images of a downtown fire caught the General’s attention. General Spradlin reluctantly grabbed the pad from the Sergeant and touched the image with his finger. It filled his computer screen.

  A reporter stood before several fire trucks. In the background were the charred remains of a small building. General Spradlin raised the volume to listen to what the reporter had to say.

  “…fire personnel are still struggling with the blaze that enveloped the Yoshiwara bar nearly two hours ago. They have confirmed finding evidence of, as they characterize it, incendiary devices planted within. The Arson Squad is standing by to further examine the structure. The bar’s insurance company, Isis, has already filed paperwork contesting any payment for damages.”

  “Figures,” Sergeant Delmont said.

  “While the fire is mostly contained, there remain complications,” the reporter continued. “Not ten minutes ago, firefighters determined there was at least one unexploded device left at the rear of the bar. The bomb squad has ordered a five blocks evacuation zone around the remains of the Yoshiwara. Our film crew captured the moment the device was discovered.”

  On the screen appeared the image of firefighters at the rear of the Yoshiwara. The image was very grainy, obviously taken with maximum zoom. On it, several firefighters sorted through the trash in the back alley between the Yoshiwara and her neighboring building. One of the firefighters lifted a cardboard box and tossed it aside. To his surprise, another box lay within. It was rectangular, consisting of several bottles wrapped around a metallic black container. Upon seeing the device, the firefighters stumbled away and yelled for the others to do the same.

  General Spradlin perked up.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He clicked the computer pad off and addressed the truck’s driver. “Take us to the 578 Street. Make it quick.”

  Inside the TransCo Oil Hospital, Nox continued her vigil by the doors leading into the emergency hallway. A pair of security guards was now stationed outside Catherine Holland’s room. Hospital personnel continued entering and exiting her room, but their pace slowed.

  Nox hoped all these developments meant her friend was doing better. The presence of security outside her room made sense. Catherine Holland was the victim of extreme violence and there was a reasonable fear she might be targeted again.

  Only Nox knew the target of the Yoshiwara bombing was her rather than Catherine.

  The Mechanic leaned into the wall behind her. The headache she was suffering from mushroomed to the point where it was difficult for her to keep her eyes open. At times Nox felt like she was about to throw up. She wished she could climb back into her bed and disappear from the world. Of course, she couldn’t.

  She wouldn’t.

  Still, the pain was overwhelming and that damned electronic squeal continued unabated. No. Not just continued. The noise grew. It drowned out everything, from the conversations around Nox to the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

  Why doesn’t anyone turn the damn speakers off?

  Nox’s vision was cloudy and she felt very thirsty. On the other side of the lobby she spotted a water fountain. She moved toward it, passing a man standing next to a column. His cell phone buzzed. Its ringer was extremely loud. The man quickly reached for his phone and pressed it to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  Nox heard his answer through the cell phone’s speaker. It was a loud, screeching electronic buzz. The man pulled the phone away from his ear and cursed. Nox continued toward the fountain. She felt as if she hadn’t had a drink in years. She passed a nurse and the woman’s beeper went off. She passed a woman holding a child. Her phone buzzed.

  Nox hurried on.

  The black truck approached the barricades.

  Security officers motioned for it to turn around and leave the area. Instead, it came to a stop.

  “You can’t be here,” one of the officers said.

  “Wait for me,” General Spradlin told his soldiers.

  General Spradlin exited the truck. The officers manning the barricade drew close, until they were directly before him.

  “I’m not going to repeat—” the officer began, his face red with anger.

  General Spradlin pulled a badge from his chest pocket. He displayed it to all the officers.

  “Military OPS,” he said.

  “Military?” the officer said. “What are you doing—”

  “Right now?” General Spradlin interrupted. “Wasting time I don’t have.”

  “I…I’m sorry, sir,” the officer before him said. “We’ll move the barricades.”

  “No need,” Spradlin countered. “I’ll walk.”

  “Should I get you an escort?”

  “No.”

  Without saying another word, General Spradlin stepped past the barricades and disappeared into the shadows beyond.

  General Spradlin kept to those shadows as he walked down the empty street. There were no people to be seen, nor police maintaining any order beyond the outer perimeter. The street grew darker, more foreboding. The windows in the buildings around him were drawn and the apartments appeared deserted. The police were very thorough. For all intents and purposes, the entire area looked like a ghost town.

  That or the end of the world.

  General Spradlin suppressed a shiver for he felt a dark energy surround him. The energy was filled with fury. It was the same anger he felt when he touched the remains of Joshua Landon’s shock collar.

  He cautiously moved on.

  Within the military van, Sergeant Delmont watched as the General walked away.

  A deep frown filled his youthful face and his hands settled on his weapon. It was an AR 52, one of the better currently available variants of the air cooled automatic rifle.

  He sighed.

  “I’m going after General Spradlin,” he told the truck’s driver.

  “Sir? Didn’t he order us to wait?”

  “I heard the General make a request, not issue an order,” Delmont said.

  “With all due respect, Sergeant, whenever the General tells us something, is there any difference?”

  Sergeant Delmont didn’t immediately reply. He gave his rifle a quick check.

  “Sir, the General must know what he’s doing.”

  Sergeant Delmont was on his feet.

  “The man’s alone and, as far as I could determine, unarmed. He should have an escort.” Sergeant Delmont lifted his weapon. “Someone who can fire back.”

  Delmont slid the transport’s side door open.

  “Let me even the odds a little.”

  The officers at the barricade allowed Sergeant Delmont through without asking for an ID. Given the weapons he carried, they had little interest in arguing that point.

  Sgt. Delmont followed the same direction General Spradlin took. After a block, he thought he spotted movement in the distance. He broke into a jog.

  The shadows around him were very thick and for some reason the street lights were off. In another hour or so, the sun would rise, but for now everything was pitch black.

  It’s always darkest before the dawn…

  He spotted a dim light from farther away, from where he guessed the Yoshiwara bar once stood. It looked like it was on the other side of the Moon.

  Sgt. Delmont pressed forward toward that light, his weapon at the ready and his eyes and ears alert for anything. The image of Joshua Landon was seared in his mind, yet in this darkness he could find himself face to face with the escaped prisoner and not even realize it.

  He kept going, using the cover of the shadows while slowly approaching the distant lights.

  He almost missed the sound.

  Something scraped the sidewalk concrete. It was the heel of a shoe…maybe. The sound was close, only a few feet away. Behind him.

  A second passed, then another.

  Sergeant Delmont crouched down low. Whoever was b
ehind him was watching…waiting.

  For me? The General?

  He strained his ears, trying to hear anything coming from the person in the dark. He heard nothing more. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement.

  His head snapped right and up, to the rooftops above him.

  There were three figures standing at the edges of three different buildings. They stared down at the empty road.

  Though Sergeant Delmont was deep in the shadows, he knew they spotted him.

  His pulse raced.

  The figures on the rooftops neither moved nor stirred. They were content to look down at him, content to have him know they were there.

  Sergeant Delmont heard another sound coming from behind him. Then another from in front. They –whoever they were– surrounded him. The Sergeant’s breathing grew heavier. There were three above and at least three more down below. Perhaps more. There was nowhere for him to go.

  Sergeant Delmont kept still, waiting for them to make a move. They didn’t. Sweat rolled off his forehead.

  Another scrape. Another. They were toying with him, daring him to act.

  “What do you want?” he finally said.

  The figures in the darkness didn’t reply.

  “Who are you?”

  Yet another scrape. This one was only a couple of feet behind him.

  Sgt. Delmont slowly turned. Despite the darkness, he could sense the figure standing before him. He could smell the man’s sweat and…and something more. He detected the faint smell of Desertland dust.

  Sgt. Delmont swallowed.

  The person before him was Joshua Landon.

  Don't talk to him because he won't listen. Don't try to reason with him because he'll use those few seconds to take you out. And pray to your Gods you don't come as close to him as we are to each other, because by that time it'll be too late.

  For Sgt. Delmont, it was too late.

  Yet the man and his companions didn’t come any closer.

  What were they up to? More importantly, who were they? There was no way to know nor anything Sgt. Delmont could do.

  Though the Sergeant was a mountain of a man and carried a fearsome weapon, he could sense those around him were neither impressed nor afraid of him. At this moment and at this time, he was a lamb in the middle of a pack of wolves.

  If Joshua Landon is as dangerous as General Spradlin says, how dangerous are these people with him?

  Several more tension filled seconds passed.

  And then Sgt. Delmont heard more sounds. His eyes turned up, to the rooftops. The figures were gone.

  He looked back down.

  The smell of sweat and Desertland dust drifted away.

  He heard no more noises. Landon and his companions –whoever they were– were gone.

  No, not all gone.

  Sgt. Delmont swung around, drawing his weapon as he did. He was abruptly stopped. It felt as if his body had slammed into a brick wall. He was completely frozen in place and held tight in a steel grip. He could not raise his weapon. He could not move.

  Excruciating pain filled his arm. A dark figure was behind him, holding him firmly in place. The figure leaned closer, until the Sergeant could feel his hot breath.

  “What part of ‘wait here’ did you not understand, Sergeant?”

  The words were a silent whisper. Despite the pain, despite the terror, Sergeant Delmont felt incredible relief.

  “I…I was worried for your welfare, sir,” he whispered back.

  General Spradlin kept his arms on Sergeant Delmont. His grip remained strong and he didn’t move. The two remained dead still for several more seconds.

  There came the sounds of several people scurrying by. General Spradlin’s hand covered Sgt. Delmont’s mouth.

  The sounds increased. More people passed them, two, five. Perhaps as many as ten. Most of them moved on. A couple, however, stopped. Sgt. Delmont couldn’t see them in the darkness, but he could most certainly feel them.

  He stared at where he thought they were. In that darkness he spotted a set of glowing eyes. They were brilliant blue. They stared for a long time without blinking. The wind around them died down. Somewhere far away someone coughed. There was no other sound for several seconds.

  The eyes were gone.

  General Spradlin relaxed his grip on Sgt. Delmont.

  “That…that was him, wasn’t it?” Sgt. Delmont said.

  “Yes.”

  “He had me. Why didn’t he attack?”

  “They weren’t here for you.”

  “Who were they here for?” Sgt. Delmont asked.

  He took a step back. Recognition dawned on him.

  “They’re here for you?” he asked the General. “Is that why you went in alone? You were trying to draw Joshua Landon out?”

  “I was,” General Spradlin said.

  “Did you know there were others with him?”

  “No.”

  “Are they…are they like him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they as dangerous as he is?”

  “Absolutely.”

  17

  Outside the remains of the Yoshiwara bar, the once raging fire had finally burned itself out, leaving behind smoking embers. Most of the emergency vehicles were gone. There were no ambulances and a single fire truck parked a discrete distance from the bar’s ashes. The vehicle closest to the bar’s remains was parked before the smoldering ashes. It was a medium sized truck with a heavily reinforced body. It carried no outward identification or markings. The vehicle’s rear hatch was open and a trio of people, two men and a woman, stared intently at a monitor propped up before them. They all wore neon red bomb squad outfits.

  General Spradlin and Sergeant Delmont approached the trio. All the while, General Spradlin took in the details the destruction before him.

  The trio of bomb squad technicians was startled to find the General and Sergeant approaching. The female member of the trio could hardly contain her shock and anger. She quickly left her position and hurried to General Spradlin’s side.

  “You can’t be here!” she said. “There’s a bomb—”

  “Military Ops,” Spradlin replied. He produced his identification badge. “I’m General Paul Spradlin.”

  “I don’t care if you’re Saint fucking Nicho—”

  “By order of the Council of Government, I’m taking charge here.”

  The woman let out a laugh.

  “I don’t know what’s crazier: Military Ops taking charge of this situation or admitting to working for the Council of Government.” She pointed to the alley behind the Yoshiwara’s remains. “There’s a bomb down there and the three of us just happen to be trained experts in the not very lucrative field of bomb disposal. Are you?”

  “Am I?”

  “An expert in bomb disposal.”

  “No.”

  “Then would you care to reconsider taking charge here?”

  “I have,” General Spradlin said. “You are relieved of duty.”

  “Relieved?” the woman said.

  “Sergeant Delmont?” General Spradlin said.

  Sergeant Delmont raised his rifle.

  The woman couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “Fine!” she said. “You’re in charge, General. But don’t expect me or my men to go into that alley for you.”

  “You have eyes on the device?”

  “Yes.”

  General Spradlin stepped past the woman and approached the monitor in the back of the bomb squad vehicle. The image on it was grainy, the lighting harsh. On the screen was the bomb left behind in the alley. Beside the monitor was a pair of joysticks. General Spradlin pointed to them.

  “What’s this?”

  “They control the mechanized rover we have in the alley. The rover is sending these images to us.”

  General Spradlin nodded. He grabbed the joysticks.

  “Easy!” the woman said.

  “I think he knows what he’s doing,” Sergeant Delmont
said.

  “You better hope so,” the woman replied. “The rover’s parked up against an approximately twenty pound charge. Your General so much as taps that device and we get to see just how deep in the shrapnel zone we are.”

  General Spradlin moved the joysticks and the image on the screen shot forward. Too quickly. General Spradlin released the joysticks as those around him gasped. Sergeant Delmont leaned in close to General Spradlin.

  “You do know what you’re doing, right?”

  General Spradlin ignored the question. He reached for the joysticks once again, this time gently guiding the robot closer to the bomb. He examined it from different angles, verifying what he briefly saw during the newscast a little earlier. When he was done, he pointed to the back alley.

  “It’s down there?” he asked.

  “By the Gods, you’re not going there, are you?” the woman said. She shook her head. “Of course you are. Yes, the bomb is down there. Tell you what, have at it. Just give me and my boys a few seconds to find some cover.”

  General Spradlin walked past the female bomb squad member and toward the alley.

  “There are easier ways of committing suicide!” she yelled out. “At least put on a protective suit!”

  General Spradlin disappeared behind the alley wall.

  The female bomb tech eyed Sergeant Delmont.

  “Aren’t you going to join your fearless leader?”

  Sergeant Delmont sighed.

  “I’d much rather not.”

  “Glad to see one of you has some common sense.”

  “Probably a lot less than I should,” Sergeant Delmont added.

  He hurried after General Spradlin.

  The back alley was covered in debris, ash, and soot. A brick wall, the side of the building next to the Yoshiwara, was reasonably intact. Near the alley entrance and on that wall and floor was a body shaped chalk outline. At the lower extremities of that outline was a thick puddle of blood.

  Sergeant Delmont spotted General Spradlin crouched down some twenty feet away. Next to him was the bomb squad’s robotic rover. A single light strapped to the top of the rover illuminated that end of the alley.