“Next month or so. How long ago did you say the previous tenants moved out?” Dante said.
“Two, three days. Ten years they’ve done business here then up and left. We’d just signed a new lease with them too. There’s an early termination fee but we can go over all of that. Good timing for you, though, eh?”
“Yeah,” Dante said. What the hell happened to Shadow Trace?
Not everything had been removed. Molchalin’s office was still tucked in the far corner, door open a crack. Dante made his way over through the dim space, past where the server racks used to stand and placed his palm against the door. It eased open without a sound. There was a faint smell of something sweet, coconut or almond, a soapy smell.
Dante stepped inside the small room and peered into the darkness, trying make out anything that might have been left behind but it was too dark. He stepped over to flick the light switch when his foot came down on something and he slipped, throwing his arm out for balance. His arm hit the wall with a rattling thud.
“Everything okay back there?” Melton said, his voice echoing across the bare concrete.
Dante ignored him and slipped out his phone. He knelt down and turned on the phone’s flashlight. The bright beam threw the small rectangular object into sharp relief. It was a bar of soap, mangled from where he’d stepped on it. The top was mushroomed, streaked with gray. The strong smell of coconut wafted upward.
Dante stood and panned the phone around the room, illuminating the walls. Something was scrawled there in big letters, but it was difficult to make out against the gleaming white of the walls.
Swinging the phone light over to a corner, he saw a small pile of dust and debris left over from the hasty clear out. Striding over, he knelt and grabbed a handful, then flung it into a high arc over the wall. As the dust rained down, it collected on the soap smudges, darkening the pearlescent streaks into something legible.
Dante stood back and raked his light over the wall. He snorted in disbelief at this cloak and dagger turn of events. A strange feeling stole through him, like he was being watched. His phantom toes twitched. He jerked at the knock on the door frame from behind and turned.
Charlie Melton stood in the doorway, squinting as Dante’s light shone onto his face. He motioned to the words etched onto the wall in coconut scented soap. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dante shook his head and read the words again.
DARK MESSIAH IS COMING FOR YOU.
Excerpt from TechBeat.com article:
Technological Breakthrough: Scientists create “Synapse Map” of human brain
By Ian Weller
A Synapse map, or Synaptome, has been created from a human brain for the very first time by researchers at BaselMek Medical Industries. Using high-speed spinning disk confocal microscopy (SDM), Diffusion-weighted Magnetic Resonance Imaging (DW-MRI) along with special machine learning software, a team of scientists, neurologists and engineers have completed an eight-year-long study to create a three-dimensional map of the human brain at the synaptic level.
“The real game changer was the SDM microsopy,” says Dr. Patricia Shimizu. “Our imager, an Andor Dragonfly 500, allowed us to capture super resolution down to the molecular level, essentially where thoughts occur.”
When asked what’s next on the horizon, Dr. Shimizu replied, “Now that we have a synaptome map, a Connectome, the complete electrochemical architecture of the human brain, can be created. The next logical step would be 3-D printing of biological tissues to create an actual, organic brain. It’s very exciting!”
CHAPTER 47
Retrocam
The phone chittered, causing Briana’s hand to tighten on the refrigerator door handle. She hadn’t eaten all day and her head swam as she read the text. The list of instructions appeared again, her frown deepening as she scanned the bizarre steps that lay ahead of her that night. None of it made any sense, but if it would keep that video out of her father’s inbox then she’d do whatever it took.
Leish glanced over from where she streamed the latest gaming craze, trying to catch Briana’s eye. After a moment, she gave up. With a war whoop she dove back into the fray but it lacked her usual verve.
The chair legs screeched as Briana slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. All the cameras had been removed. In their place was a bowl of red apples and she grabbed one, biting with large, frantic bites.
“You okay?” Leish said. She was standing across from her, hand gripping the top a chair. Briana hadn’t seen her come over.
Briana swallowed, large chunks of apple sticking in her throat before sliding slowly down. Rising to her feet she said, “Busy night. I got to go.”
“Briana,” Leish said, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” Briana brushed past Leish down the hall to her room. She closed the door behind her and kept the light off. As instructed, she changed into long black slacks and black button up shirt, the unofficial uniform of baristas everywhere. She wouldn’t be slinging coffee tonight though.
With nothing to do all week except worry and wait, Briana had gone through the boxes of Leish’s swag stacked along the back wall. After she’d turned the large hyena to face the wall. The thing creeped her out. It had been tricky to do in the dim light that leaked in around the blinds, but she didn’t trust having the lights on in here ever again.
In among a box of other electronic odds and ends, she found a small video camera that used mini DV tapes, the word RETROCAM stenciled along one side in red. Somebody’s poor attempt at rebranding.
Briana liked it.
There was a pullout touch screen on one side and a viewfinder along the top. It was older tech, made before anything was smart or connected to the Internet. Her dad had one like it back home, the tapes full of Briana singing at school talent shows or church functions.
When Leish said people sent her all kinds of stuff, she wasn’t kidding. Another thing Briana had been shocked to find was a gun along with a box of shells. It was a Hatfield single shot twelve gauge—the kind they sold at Walmart for about a hundred bucks—still in the box. Her father had one, given to him by a member of his church. They had taken it out to the range only once. The trigger pull was at least eight or nine pounds and it was a light gun so it kicked like a mule. She preferred her Remington 870 anyways. She’d gotten pretty decent at trap shooting before giving it up for more girly things.
She’d hefted the gun and broke the barrel, making sure it was safe. Then she snapped it closed and swung it high, imagining a clay pigeon with Mel Rose’s face on it exploding in the sky. The smell of gun oil made her miss home. She leaned it back in the corner and draped the dazzle camo over the gun again to hide it.
After tucking the black shirt into her slacks, she slipped the strap of her messenger bag over one shoulder and patted the corner to make sure the low-tech camera was still inside. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do with it, but it gave her a sense of control, something they couldn’t reach. Maybe she would make a little video of her own, get some proof of what, exactly, she didn’t know. She bit her lip and almost plucked the camera out of the bag and flung it across the room.
If they caught her with it…she shuddered.
She resisted flipping the bird at the large hyena’s back and checked her phone.
Time to go.
CHAPTER 48
Trapped
Gary stood on the corner down the street from where his family was safe at home, tucked in at the end of the cul-de-sac.
Trapped, more like it, he thought.
The occasional car passed by, the people inside giving him strange looks. Gail had told him to change, said he looked like an out-of-work preacher as he’d walked out the front door. He didn’t dare tell her that the very first instruction in the text was to wear all black.
Another car drove near and he made like he was checking his watch, even though he didn’t wear one. The vehicle slowed dow
n, the hum of its motor dissipating. Gary glanced up and saw it was one of those new autonomous vehicles. Boxy with rounded edges, white with an orange stripe down the side. A translucent dome was perched on top. Dim lights blinked inside. There was no cabin at the front, just a horizontal strip of LEDs cleaving the early evening air with a bright blade of light. The rear door whispered up, exposing the interior cargo bay.
It was empty.
Gary hesitated and the horn blew, a one second blast that seemed to go on forever. If the twins had been there, they would have laughed to see him jump before he hurried inside the truck. The door slid shut and the truck sped off, throwing him onto his ass. Gary grimaced as a light strip came on overhead. He switched the Taser to his other pocket and rubbed his sore butt cheek as he crawled away from the door. Sitting with his back against the wall, he listened to the hum of tires on pavement as the autonomous vehicle sped off into the night.
CHAPTER 49
Autonomous
The autonomous truck rounded another corner and dropped with a thump before continuing along at a much slower pace. Briana crouched down against the wall and hooked her fingers into a lip that ran along the inside where the upper and lower halves fit together.
Where are they taking me? she wondered.
The truck eased to a halt and the door rose up. It had been such a strange experience to climb into the back when it had appeared in front of the apartment, rear door hanging open.
She scooted across the floor and stepped out.
The reek of rotting garbage wafted over and she pressed the back of a hand to her nose. A dark alley stretched away from her, lit by the occasional naked bulb. Low buildings were tucked along the left, some with roll up metal loading doors shuttered tight.
To her right, a cinder block wall hemmed in the back of the alley, standing ten feet tall or more, topped with a chain-link fence. Spiky tufts of yellowed grass peeked out along the top of the wall against a deepening sky. Briana pictured an empty lot up there with junk cars and burning barrels, homeless folks huddled around them.
Large dumpsters lined the alley, like the ones used at construction sites. A smaller dumpster sat nearby, painted green with a black plastic lid. New odors drifted over her, burnt plastic and chemicals, more tasted than smelled. Briana was about to check the instructions again when a dragonfly drone swept down from above and hovered in front of a plain, metal door painted a flat gray. Industrial Printers LLC was stenciled across the door in black paint. A sign next to the door read: Night Pick up. Below it was a rectangular metal hatch, about one foot by two, sealed tight.
Briana walked over, eying the dragonfly with suspicion before kneeling down. A harsh clang rang out as bolts retracted and the door lifted up with a screech. The dark opening yawned like a toothless mouth, the sharp metal frame around it scaled with rust. Her nose wrinkled as a sharp odor wafted out. She didn’t want to put her hand in there.
The drone made a harsh clacking sound with its wings. Briana braced one hand against the wall and slid her other hand inside. She felt nothing at first, so she stretched her arm down a little more. It was deeper than it looked. Still nothing. She pulled her hand out and the drone objected again.
“There’s nothing in there,” Briana hissed. The drone dove at her face, causing her to flinch. Then it hovered back, waiting. Gazing back at the dark opening, she slid her hand inside once more, past her elbow, then further still, her cheek almost touching the frame around the edge. The harsh tang of metal stung her nostrils.
Still nothing.
She was about to pull her hand out when her fingertips brushed against the smooth surface of something inside. Pushing her body tight against the wall, she stretched her arm down as far as she could. Her fingers clamped around the edge of a rectangular object, still hot to the touch. Dropping it in alarm, she grasped it once more and slowly pulled the object out, holding it in her hands.
It was a box, like a laptop but thicker, flat black in color with an elliptical hole at one end. The box cooled rapidly in the night air and she slipped a finger under the lip, lifting it open.
A pair of sharp metal blades glinted inside.
The drone protested and she let the lid drop with a clack. After stuffing the box into her messenger bag, Briana walked back over to the waiting truck. The drone didn’t follow. Her eyes followed as it rose straight up, almost disappearing high above. It hovered there, glinting like a little green star. A small red light began to blink on its underside.
It’s now or never, she thought. A thrill coursed through her. Am I really going to do this?
She stepped inside the truck’s cargo bay and tucked her phone in the small lip that curved along the inside wall. That was most likely how they’d been tracking her, through the GPS in her phone. Dropping to her knees, she opened the messenger bag, reached past the strange box and pulled out the mini DV camera before jamming it into her pocket. Leaving the bag in the center of the cargo area, she turned and hopped out.
The door slid closed with a shush. The instructions clearly stated that she was to return to the truck, pass the bag to the occupant then take the same truck back home. She felt exposed, standing out there in the open as she glanced up. The red light on the underside of the drone began to flash faster and Briana’s heart skipped.
Uploading data or something? she thought. It must be almost done. If it sees me out here…
She dashed to the green dumpster she’d spied earlier, hoping it was a recycling bin. With her fingers she tried to lift the lid, but it held tight. A metal bar lay across the top, locked at one end with a padlock. Her eyes darted to the drone again.
The light blinked faster, almost a solid glow now.
Heaving up on a cover, she was able to force the stiff but flexible lid open but it closed as soon as she let go. A square wooden post leaned against a wall nearby. She tucked it under one arm and dragged it over to the dumpster. With the heels of her hands she pried the plastic lid up again, then wrestled the post up under the edge. Shifting it back and forth, she wedged it in to allow the lid to stay open. The gap was only about a foot or so, but it would have to do. She checked the drone.
The red light stopped and the dragonfly began descending with alarming speed.
Briana dove in through the opening, causing the post to fall inside after her. Her hands slid into a spiky bed of plastic scrap as the lid snapped shut, trapping her left foot.
With a grunt, she yanked her foot free, plunging the interior into darkness. Her shoe fell on the stained asphalt outside with a rubbery, muted plunk and her heart almost stopped as she heard the angry flutter of wings.
The dragonfly drone was coming closer.
CHAPTER 50
Messenger Bag
The truck dropped suddenly and then drove slow and steady before easing to a stop. The door rose up and Gary blinked at what he saw.
It was the inside of another truck, identical to his except for one thing. A black messenger bag was in the center, the wide, flat strap lay in loose tangle.
Gary went over the instructions in his head. Wasn’t there supposed to be someone in the other truck? Guess the plan changed.
It made him nervous.
He scuttled over and slipped the strap of the bag onto his shoulder. A phone sat on the small ledge that ran along the interior. He reached out to take it, then hesitated.
Where the fuck was the other guy? he thought. Licking his lips, Gary grabbed the phone.
He scooted back into his truck and sat against the wall, the bag held protectively on his lap, and waited. He’d let them know the other guy wasn’t there and he had their phone. Gary wasn’t going to let someone else screw this up. He was going to follow the plan to the letter, for his family.
The doors slid shut and the truck began to move.
Almost over, Gary said to himself. Almost over.
CHAPTER 51
Dumpster
The heat was stifling in the dumpster as she held her breath. The drone was s
till hovering just outside. She strained to listen for the flit of its wings, imagining it dropping low to scan her shoe and realize she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Sweat beaded on her forehead, threatening to seep into her eyes and she squeezed them shut.
An image of her father appeared behind closed lids, eyes bleary as he gazed in shock at the video of her daughter engaged in something that made him sick to his soul.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
A vehicle approached from the far end of the alley and Briana heard the chatter of wings as the drone flew off. Wiping her forehead with the back of her arm, she removed the mini DV camera from her pocket and pushed the power button. It sprang to life with a soft, electric whine.
Creeping forward, Briana pushed the lid up just a crack, resting the camera on the edge to capture what was happening outside. She peered at the small pullout screen, eyes glinting in the dim light as she watched.
Two identical autonomous trucks sat end to end in the alley as if performing some strange mating ritual. The trucks separated and the one she’d arrived in eased past the dumpster and out of sight, her phone with it. The other truck drove further down the alley, then sped across a four-lane street before disappearing into the darkness below a taller building that towered high above.
Peering closer at the screen, she saw a small W and T at the top right corner. She tapped on the W. Nothing happened. Pressing a fingertip on T caused the image to expand, zooming in on the darkness. A few cars drove by, their headlights left streaks across the screen.
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