Global Union: A New Life

by K. L. Lewis

  Their backs were turned. Now was his chance. DeMarcus bolted past the lip of the alley to the store. “What was that?” one of the women questioned, her voice freezing DeMarcus behind a wall.

  How’d they hear him? He didn’t even make it off the walkway. He made slow steps to the next corner, only to stumble over a recycling can. Its loud clatter echoed around the block. He gritted at the sound—there was a brief silence as he picked himself up and ran to the store. Then his stomach lurched when he looked back at two of the militants scurrying after him.

  Breaking into a sprint, he reached the store lot. There was a parahuman in a pink and orange jacket browsing behind the store windows—a girl with short, scruffy black hair covering her head, and dark grey marks on her eyelids like a panda as she turned her bored expression his way. He waved his arms for her attention, but a militant landed between him and the store, and he veered off to the sidewalks.

  He checked his OmniMorph, still blinking no signal. Droplets fell from the sky and pelted his hair, sliding into his eyes and blurring his vision. The ground became slippery and moist as he circled back around the block shouting for help through the desolate streets. His pursuers were still on his tail, one of them dropping ahead of him and forcing him to dive away from a shot from her pistol that scrapped the ground.

  He scurried to his feet and shouted for help once more as he ran to the other end of the street. But no one came. He was on his own now.

  Two pursuers ran along the rooftops on his left, their red eyes streaking through the air as they splashed down to the sidewalks. Another blocked his path ahead as they surrounded him near the dark maw of an alley. A loud pop echoed in the air, a white-hot spike in his side brought him to his knees. He clenched the pain, feeling it pulse in his hand, watching the approaching pursuers close in on him. With the small surge of strength he mustered in his legs, he ran into the alley.

  He turned every corner to shake them, crashing into a disposal drone cleaning an intersection. The stench of rotting garbage burning his nostrils so much he almost hurled. “This way,” said one of the pursuers behind him.

  He got back on his feet and kept running, the squeezing pain of his chest and throbbing wounds hobbling him to a gait as he ran smack into a meshed fence blocking his path. His pursuers drew nearer, the splish-splash of their footsteps echoing louder from the walls. He gripped the rungs of the mesh, pulling himself up to the top and almost slipping off and ripping his pants on the drop down. His landing shot a spike of pain through his wounds on impact, and he turned back at the pursuers rushing to the gate as he ran further ahead. In a single leap, the militants leapt over the fence, landed on the other side, and continued their pursuit.

  He turned another corner and ran into a dead end, he pressed the bricks and metal in a frantic search for something to climb and spotted a ladder scaling up the roof over a large recycle bin. His legs felt like a dozen pins pricking his skin as he climbed onto the bin and grabbed the ladder’s bottom rung. He never knew how heavy his own body was either as he made his ascent to the roof. But he was finally free…

  …or so he thought as he ooked down at his pursuers below leaping to the walls and spidering up the surface. He needed somewhere to hide. Hurrying his climb up the latter to the rooftop, he ran to the other side to a flight of stairs down and skipped the steps on the way down. Another ladder hung at the bottom, leading down to an open alley toward the walkways. Sliding down the latter and tumbling on the ground, he rushed for the open street, and his heart stopped as a pursuer landed and blocked his path.

  “Where ya goin’?” she taunted, lunging at him and pinning him by his neck against the wall. He grasped her arm, struggling to breathe as her grip squeezed around his neck. He followed with a kick to her stomach, then another to her head, and on the third kick he knocked off the visor on her helmet. Under the mask was a pale human with raven hair and blue eyes, her face out in the open for another kick to her nose that knocked her away. He gasped for air as her grip broke from his neck, and he pulled a thin plastic sheet from her wrist.

  Now free from the woman’s grasp, DeMarcus made a break for the streets, only for another pursuer land before him and kick him into the wall. “Big mistake, kid,” she hissed.

  DeMarcus staggered to his feet, his body aching from his wounds to his whole body, and his stomach jumped as the other pursuers surrounded him.

  “Hold him,” the pale human behind him ordered.

  One of the parahumans snatched him and held him in a lock, laughing as he thrashed his legs. “Cute. Kid thinks he’s tough.”

  The pale human flashed her knife at DeMarcus. “You’re gonna pay for that little stunt!”

  It was a sharp punch, a jab of cold metal piercing through his stomach. The whole feeling of his body slipped away, the painful spike in his center taking over all sensation as he watched his own blood trickle from the wound.

  “Check and see what else is on him.”

  The militants surrounded him, their hands in every pocket, and another snatching his OmniMorph from his wrist. “He won’t be needing that,” one of them said, breaking it to pieces.

  Next came his father’s medallion yanked from his neck and tossed in the walkways, then he felt his body drop to the ground, his head slamming on the surface.

  “The world could use less of his kind anyway,” said the pale human—he couldn’t see her, but he knew from the hiss in her voice.

  The clicks from their boots faded as they made their getaway, leaving him on the cold ground. Pooling around him was a warm sensation flowing up to his mouth, the metallic smell and taste of his own blood as his body grew colder, and the world around turned fuzzy and grey. He reached his heavy arms out to the lights in street and climbed himself out of the alley. Each pull toward the walkway’s edge took a breath away until his body gave up.

  The world blurred around him. He let out a faint groan. “Mom…help…”

  “Hey! Hey! Can you hear me?” A girl cried out to him.

  DeMarcus groaned as the girl shook him, and he turned his heavy head to her, seeing a faded, black-and-white image. “Hang on! I’ll get help,” the girl said.

  He heard beeps on her OmniMorph, then the girl’s voice shouted in a panic. “Hello? There’s someone here bleeding on the streets! He needs a medic, fast!”

  DeMarcus heard another woman speak. “Oh, my goodness! What happened?”

  “I don’t know, but he needs help!” answered the girl.

  DeMarcus’s eyes began to close, and everything turned white. “No! No! Don’t die on us!” the girl shouted, shaking him again. Her voice echoed in his head over the sirens wailing in the distance. Then everything went quiet.

  “DeMarcus!” Sekhmet leapt from the buildings and jogged along the rooftops to where she last heard his voice. Her hand on her wounds, her body aching and sore, her eyes scanned the horizon of the massive metropolis just as an Iuvian trooper flew by on a hoverbike.

  “No sign of him, ma’am!” the soldier said.

  “Keep looking,” she said. “He’s here somewhere.”

  Every leap and landing she made sent a spiking pain through her legs, but she ignored the pain—she’ll find her son or die trying.

  An NAF soldier met her ahead from a search in the alleys below. She pressed her earpiece, then signaled to Sekhmet. “Ma’am, I’m getting a message from a nearby Gentili. There was an injured civilian found nearby.”

  The soldier pointed at a Gentili circling over an alley, and Sekhmet made a beeline with the soldier following behind. They leapt away just as an ambulance came flying by, and narrowly avoided a blue van speeding below. When they reached the alley, they were stopped by police standing by a red streak from an alley blocked by thin yellow tape.

  “Ma’am, you can’t be here!” the officer said.

  The NAF soldier raised her rifle at the officer. “This is Sekhmet Leona of Iuvia. She’s overseen the Reconstruction here—her authority supersedes yours.”

&nbs
p; The officer backed away, leaving Sekhmet to examine the red streak of blood. “What happened?” she asked.

  “A mother and her daughter found a kid bleeding out,” the officer answered. “They mentioned a group of masked people chasing after him, but there’s no sign of them anywhere. The kid’s been rushed to a hospital, but there’s no telling if he’ll make it.”

  Another officer stepped in. “These were the only things found.”

  They revealed two objects—the shredded remains of a silver colored, oddly familiar OmniMorph, and the medallion that Malcolm gave to DeMarcus covered in blood.

  Sekhmet’s heart sank as she reached for the necklace. “No…DeMarcus!”

  “Did you know this boy?” the officer asked.

  Sekhmet grabbed the officer. “That was my son! Where is he? Where was he taken?”

  “No idea,” the officer answered. “There’s been multiple attacks across the city, and a lot of hospitals have filled up! He could be in any of them!”

  She released the officer, palming her face as she held her tears in check. She didn’t want to believe the worst, but she wanted to at least see for herself if her thoughts were true. “I’ll find him,” she said, jumping to the air.

  She leapt over the first building and pulled herself up to the second. She held her OmniMorph on her wrist, scanning for all the hospitals in the city—the closest one was the Coalesce Emergency Clinic sitting near the Eastern Ruins just one klick away. She pulled her in hand as she sent out an alert. “This is Sekhmet Leona, requesting an emergency search for my son, DeMarcus Maahes in—”

  Her head yanked away from her OmniMorph as static buzzed in her ear with garbled voices. She couldn’t make out a single word—no doubt whatever was blocking signals was still on. “Dammit!”

  Gritting her teeth, she ran along the buildings with her soldiers following behind on the way to the Clinic. She barged inside, spooking the two parahumans at the desk. Clustered around the main room were dozens of injured and maimed civilians in casts and bandages—those were the ones who were alive.

  She turned to the desk, approaching the pudgy, black-bearded parahuman and flashed her badge. “I’m looking for someone,” she said. “A young boy, around 14. He looks like this.”

  She pulled an image of DeMarcus on her OmniMorph, and the parahuman squinted at the screen and shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “We haven’t seen him anywhere.”

  “Are you sure?” Sekhmet asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” the man answered with a shrug.

  The woman stood up and handed Sekhmet a tablet. “These are all the people we have logged, ma’am,” she said. “And those are just the ones still alive. We’ve taken in more than our capacity can hold, and there are new arrivals by the minute. If we see him, Dr. Vai and I will let you know, Ms. Leona.”

  Sekhmet sighed and closed her eyes. Then she looked the woman in hers. “Thank you,” she said, turning and walking through the doors.

  She continued to hospital and clinic after the other, but none of them had her son when she called out to him. It didn’t matter how big or small they were, none had anything on her son. She called in other soldiers to assist her, but even they had nothing after a few long hours.

  She collapsed on the streets, exhausted and dizzy from her still aching wounds. As she caught her breath, her soldiers leapt to her aid. “Are you okay, ma’am?” the NAF soldier asked.

  A tear ran down Sekhmet’s cheek as she looked down at DeMarcus’s necklace wrapped on her hand. “I’ve lost him,” she whimpered. “He’s probably dead by now.”

  The Iuvian soldier reassured her. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll find him.”

  She could only hope they did. She sucked in her tears and rose to her feet. “Alright. You guys spread out.”

  The soldiers vaulted off, leaving Sekhmet to catch her breath. Sekhmet put what strength she had in her legs and leapt toward the rooftops, where she caught sight a strange figure in the distance leaping toward the Eastern Ruins that she herself just came from. She followed, watched the person survey the Coalesce Emergency Clinic before rushing to the high fences walling off the ruins. Sekhmet squinted for a closer look at the person. A mask with four red eyes, a pale yellow and white exo-suit with a rifle was strapped to their back—the same outfit as the ones who attacked her and her son.

  “Hey,” Sekhmet called, landing behind the strange person. “Who the hell are you?”

  The person jumped at the sight of her and reached for the pistol on their hip as Sekhmet launched at her.

  BLAM! BLAM!

  CHAPTER 7 – CHECK UP

  Heavy rain poured onto the streets, and the light posts dimmed and darkened around him. The heavy air pressing down on him, DeMarcus sprinted ahead, away from the surrounding darkness swarming after him. Pitch black and empty, it devoured anything that entered its path, the road, the skies, everything, sinking down into an abyss of nothing. High pitched laughter emanated from the void, taunting him as he ran. He turned back to the sounds, jumping from blood-red eyes dotting the darkness.

  At the end of the road, a dead end blocked his path, and the black abyss surged closer. Then it stopped. He backed away, watching the void ebb and bubble like blobs at the edge of his feet. The laughter grew, surrounding him as his back pressed against the wall, eyes gazing at him all around.

  Two of the eyes turned blue. A dark blur shot from the void and pinned him against the wall. He gritted against the grip squeezing his neck. He kicked and thrashed, looking down at a pale, blue-eyed human holding him up. Her raven black hair waved behind her, blending into the shadowy background. She flashed a malicious grin and raised a knife overhead as she spoke, “The world could use less of your kind.”

  Her blade ripped the air. DeMarcus braced for the cut, and he jolted up to a pale white square before his eyes. Where was he now? Where was the woman? He didn’t feel her hand on his neck anymore. On top of that, he found himself lying on something soft, like a cloud. Was this heaven?

  A warm blanket slid from his neck as he rose. Soft beeps pulsed in his ear as he turned to the monitors and machines around him, and his face scrunched at the rusty, tangy smell of the room. Where was he? Was it all just a bad dream? His head throbbed as if he slammed into a brick wall—bandages slid under his fingers as he massaged the pain. He coiled from a sharp spikey pain sinking into his stomach, and he noticed tubes coming from under his shirt and arm. Even weirder was that he somehow ended up in a bed.

  He jumped at a girl’s voice shouting, “He’s awake!”

  Off to his side stood a girl in a pink and orange jacket. A fawn-faced parahuman with short, scruffy black hair covering her thick, bear-like ears and grey eyeshadows like a panda. DeMarcus saw her at the convenient store earlier—what was she doing here?

  He lifted from the bed, coiling again from the spiky pain in his stomach. The girl gently laid him back down. “Relax,” she said. “It’s okay. You’re at the Donnel Memorial Hospital.”

  A woman in a tan business suit stood by the girl. Another parahuman, with pointed, elfish ears like his mother, long, black hair draping down her shoulders, and two thick, black lines streaking down her cheeks. “Are you feeling okay?” the woman asked.

  DeMarcus nodded. “Did you bring me here?”

  “Yeah. We found you bleeding outside an alley,” answered the girl. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “Why don’t you tell him your name?” asked the woman.

  “Sorry. I’m Yue Sun.”

  “And I’m her mother, Jiao Sun.”

  “I’m DeMarcus…DeMarcus Maahes,” DeMarcus responded.

  Jiao smiled. “Nice to meet you, DeMarcus. That’s an interesting last name.”

  DeMarcus looked around the room. “Where…where’s my mom?”

  “Who is she?” Yue asked. “Maybe we can find her.”

  Should he tell them? He was supposed to keep that a secret. Was it worth the risk of people knowing? He covered hi
s face and breathed deep, fighting his tears from seeping out.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Yue said.

  That wasn’t it. He was glad Yue found him and got help. But it was all so confusing, everything buzzing in his head as he wondered what to do. His mother said she’d heal and find him. So, where was she?

  A knock came from the door, and a pale human in a doctor’s coat entered the room. Her long, dark hair swayed behind her as she greeted everyone with a smile. “How’s everyone?”

  “We’re fine, Alisha,” Jiao answered. “Although DeMarcus here is a bit upset.”

  “Ah, DeMarcus, is it?” Alisha repeated as she wrote his name on her tablet before turning to DeMarcus. “Well, I’m your doctor, Alisha Iyrons. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Iyrons? That sounded familiar.

  DeMarcus shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you let me know if there is,” said Alisha. “We’ve been receiving a lot of patients from that recent attack downtown. Yue said she found you there.”

  “Yeah,” DeMarcus sighed.

  “That’s…horrible. To be frank, DeMarcus, I’m surprised you’re alive given your wounds and skull fracture.”

  DeMarcus rubbed his bandages, wondering how he was alive himself. “And what’s odd,” Alisha continued, “is that not only is your fracture gone, but while the other wounds are still present, they’re patching up without our help.”

  “How?” Jiao asked.

  “Well, we ran some blood tests, and you won’t believe this.” Alisha projected from her tablet bean-shaped and worm-like objects beside blood cells. “This is a sample of the nanostrain in his blood. These are able to patch the most severe wounds while most nanotherapy can only treat simple ones.”

  “Wow. He sure got lucky.” said Yue.

  “Just barely,” Alisha added. “What’s interesting is how rare this strain is. They’re an advanced panacea-class sample from Iuvia developed decades ago, and only a handful of people out there have them in their system.”