From the Ashes

by Chris Kennedy

  The rage built in my mind, and I had to force it down. I had gotten pretty good at that, as long as I didn’t allow myself to brood too much. The instances of rage had occurred a lot less often in the last several months as I felt myself getting closer to my target and my goal.

  Cold...It was cold...

  Man, did I hurt. I was lying on my side in the dark. For a second I thought I was back in the capsule. But then the fog started clearing. I moaned as I tried to move.

  “Is someone in there?” a hushed female voice asked.

  “Can you get me out of here, please?” I asked, my voice scratchy as hell and sounding more like a growl than a human voice.

  “Hold on, I’ll see if I can get something to flip this thing over.” I’m pretty sure I blacked out, but I came back to when she said, “Brace yourself.”

  Suddenly I was heaved onto my back and the lid above my feet popped open. The light nearly blinded me, and I was thankful the parts near my face had not been the first to open.

  “Shit!” I felt like I had been slammed in a car door several times, then put in the freezer.

  “Well, you’ll need some clothes,” the woman said nonchalantly. “Hold on while I get these other doors open.”

  By the time she got the other two open, I was out again.

  “That’s all. I want to do something to help rid the world of the terrorists Obsidian calls ‘Agents.’”

  “Kid, how do you even know what an Agent is? What are you, 17?”

  “How did you know?” I asked, looking around. He didn’t need to know I was just a few months past 15. I knew I was big for my age. I was also smart. Momma made sure of that. Not that she had been around, but she had started me out right. I had the curiosity, the focus, and the drive to learn. Those traits had been immeasurable in my mission so far.

  “Kid, it’s obvious you’re smart. You figured out this place. But this isn’t the kind of program that takes in any Tom, Dick, or Harry off the street. We specialize. We do things a certain way, and that’s the way we do them. The kind of people we work with are not the kind of people you want to be around. This is more of a prison program than a school. You really don’t want to be here.”

  “Look.” I stared into his cold, blue eyes and let the fire and anger show in mine. “I am going to sit out on the curb and be a nuisance until you let me be a part of this program. I’ll live in the alley behind this building, and I’ll shit in the shrubs and piss on the sidewalk.”

  “Ha! I bet you would, too! But the answer is still no. Here is a name.” He handed me a slip of paper with a name scrawled on it. “Go see him and tell him L sent you. He’ll get you a night’s sleep and some good food. Then he will help you get into a school. I like your spunk, kid, but don’t make me call the cops. Skat!” He pointed toward the door, then went back to his screen.

  “Alright,” I said. “So, who are all these characters you think I don’t belong with? Where do they come from?”

  He looked back at me and said, “Prison, kid. They are the worst of the worst. They’re the ones the bogeymen are scared of—serial killers, murderers, psychopaths, and sociopaths.”

  “OK, I guess I’ll have to find a couple of families to kill, then drink their blood or something.”

  “Wait a minute!” He stood and came around the desk. He moved fast for a guy his size. He had at least four inches on me and was all muscle. I could see he was to the point of giving in. “Look, if you’re that certain this is what you want, who am I to say no? You’ll change your mind within a week.”

  He glowered at me and hit a button on his desk. “Gwen, come in here; we have a new recruit.”

  My blood went cold for a second, then a short lady in a pantsuit came through the office door. Definitely not my sister, although I knew that already, as I had left her mangled body in the kitchen of our family home in Texas.

  Blam!

  What the hell?! Where was I?! What the hell!?

  “Lie still, Mister,” someone whispered. “There are some looters upstairs. They don’t have any reason to suspect there is anyone around. Just take it easy.”

  “Thanks.” My voice was hoarse. “Uh, do you have any water here? And where is here? And who are you?”

  “Just take it easy for a minute. Once they move along, I’ll get you a drink.”

  She may have. The next thing I knew, it was light outside, and I was alone. I tried to move, but it was difficult. I managed to prop myself up against a counter.

  There was a protein bar box next to the pile of blankets and rags I was using for a bed. I found a couple inside and ate one. There was also a large bottle full of water that I took a long drink from. I reached for another bar and opened it.

  Looking around, I took in everything I could. The pile of rags I was sitting on looked to be lab coats and white sheets and blankets. The light was artificial and coming from an emergency lighting system high on the walls. The place was pretty neat but had obviously been searched.

  I reached for another bar and found the box empty. When I turned to look at it, I saw a woman standing by the end of the counter I was propped against. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Where are we?” I asked, trying to turn so I could see her better.

  She was dressed in jeans and a huge sweatshirt about the size of a tent. I didn’t think she looked like a threat, but I could tell I was in no shape to do anything if she was. As hard as I tried, I could come up with no reason why she would have helped me.

  The lady walked a bit closer and shrugged as she looked around the room.

  “Looks like some sort of medical lab. We are a couple of stories underground, behind a pretty sturdy door.” She looked back at me. “I really didn’t think you were going to make it. And, truthfully, it’s been touch and go for a couple of weeks. You’re lucky we were in a medical facility. But I have no training. I was able to find food, a ready source of water, and a butt load of blankets and lab coats, but I really don’t see how you made it.”

  “Are there any aspirin? I’m sore as hell. I hurt in places I didn’t even know were places.”

  She shook her head as she moved out of my sight, then she came around the other side of the cabinet with a bottle in her hand. “Whoever ran this lab was anal as hell. They have bottles like this, labeled and stored in a medicine pantry over there. Most are medical names I don’t recognize, but this is one I do.”

  She popped the top off and handed me two capsules. “It’s codeine. You should have plenty of food in your stomach now, so you shouldn’t have any issues.”

  She nodded to the empty protein bar box with a small, crooked smile.

  “Thanks,” I said, meaning it.

  “De nada. Just don’t get used to it; I’ll more than likely be leaving tomorrow.”

  I looked at her again and tried to focus. She was probably in her fifties or early sixties. Not really tall, but not short either. Her hair was salt and pepper, leaning more toward the salt, and it was tied back in a ponytail. She had dark, intelligent eyes, but there was no happiness there. No anger or hatred, but not really anything to make you think she was nice. Her eyes were windows that took in everything.

  I watched the man through my scope when he left the second floor and hopped down to the road as if he were jumping a curb. I knew he was why I was here and what I had to do. He was headed along a path that would lead him past me about 500 yards out. An easy enough shot if I took my time and focused. Luckily, I was really good at that. I really wanted him to see me as I took him out, but I had learned caution from my first contact with an Agent. Well, my second, actually. Don’t guess I could count Agent Abigail Sloan. I felt the rage start, and I stifled it quickly. I picked the likely spot for a person to come into view as they passed in front of the multiplex on the sidewalk, then I adjusted my sights to the building behind it. It was a seedy looking den of corruption, if I ever saw one. Not much going on there now, as it was just before noon, and all of the ne’er-do-wells were still aslee
p from the previous night’s action. This is where he would come out, a place normal folks would avoid, even now. Sure enough, just a few seconds later, there he was. I adjusted my sight just a hair and gently squeezed the trigger...

  As my eyes focused, and I came back to the here and now, I saw her squatting down beside me, peering into my eyes. “Ah, there you are. Where do you go when that happens?”

  “Not sure. I was back a few years ago, I think.” It was worrisome.

  I had been having these episodes several times a day since I woke up in that can. I was also fighting some strong emotions I wasn’t used to. As a kid on my own, I had learned to suppress most emotions and focus on the things happening around me. It seemed that last treatment had brought them out again, along with other things I wasn’t so sure about yet.

  “How is it out there?”

  “Getting worse. And less and less to scavenge. Folks are getting worse as well. It seems like the strong shall survive is the motto of the day.”

  “That’s no bueno.”

  She looked at me oddly for a second. “You get some rest, and I’ll see about some more food.”

  “Uh, what’s your name? What should I call you? We’ve known each other a little while now.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she stated. “It’s not like there are a lot of people here to talk to. If you say something, it’s either to me, or you’re having one of those spells.”

  “Be careful. I’m moving around better now, so I should be able to start pulling my weight.”

  “You’ve been recovering from something pretty dramatic,” she commented as she pulled some sunglasses out of her pocket. “Anyway, I’ll more than likely be leaving tomorrow.”

  * * *

  6

  “Shey!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get over to Station 3 and debrief!”

  “On it.” I wasn’t really in the mood, but it was part of the job.

  The new guy, Sanford, I thought, was there waiting for me. He wasn’t half bad and didn’t seem to bullshit me. I appreciated that.

  “Hey, Sanford, what’s happening? How’s it hanging?” He looked at me a minute, then he chuckled.

  “Specialist, it’s good to see you made it back. Some haven’t been that lucky.”

  “Yes sir; it was hit and miss for a bit, but I’m glad I made it back, too.” I smiled at him and asked, “So, what’s the dill, Pickle?”

  “Two more specialists are MIA. We don’t expect to hear from them.”

  “Well, shit. Who’s missing?”

  “Specialist Martin and Specialist Reed.” He looked at me expectantly.

  “Damn.”

  Reed was the only one left who had been here as long as I had. I had officially been in the program a little longer, but we had certified at the same time. I didn’t really like him, as he was an arrogant bastard who had messy missions more often than not. His fall made me the longest standing Specialist. At 29 years old, I had been mission-certified for 11 years. Reed had been in his late thirties and a very careful operator. The messiness of his missions usually came from collateral damage, not the planning or performance. He had that down.

  “What do you need from me, Sanford?”

  “Just wanted to tell you that you’re the senior now. You’ve been the oddball in that you’ve gone seeking new skills and are more experienced. We’ll need to lean on you a bit as a model for the new recruits. You may be used in a training capacity from time to time, but that won’t be your primary job, I assure you. You’ll probably be picking up a few extra missions, as a matter of fact. You might be pretty busy for the next while.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” I said a little more icily than I meant to, and he did a small double-take and looked sharply at me for a minute.

  “Good. Dismissed.”

  We had to move. I had a strong, burning feeling in my guts that we had to move. The looters were getting more and more destructive, and it was only a matter of time before they found us. I suddenly realized what the feeling was. Fear. I had felt it briefly back in Texas. This was wrong in so many ways—I didn’t fear punk looters! What the hell was going on? What had those little, mechanical bugs done to my brain?

  “Are you here, Mister? Or are you in your past again?”

  I glanced at her and chuckled. “If you’re gonna keep calling me Mister, then I’m calling you Lady.”

  She gave me her slightly crooked smile. “I guess I could call you, ‘The Tramp.’”

  “Tramp?” I wondered aloud.

  “An old reference that isn’t really relevant, but I thought it was amusing.” She gave me another crooked smile.

  For just a moment, I had a twinge of a memory. I remembered my sister, Clair, but I don’t know why. Lately, I’d had twinges of memories of Clair, but I couldn’t figure out why this lady in her fifties reminded me of my long dead sister. Maybe because Clair and Gwen would have been about that age now; I don’t know. And why Clair and not Gwen? Stupid nanites.

  “Well, Mister, do you think you’re up to moving to a better place?”

  I felt that feeling I didn’t like in my gut and suppressed it. Good to know I still could do that. “I was just thinking that we should move. Those looters are getting more destructive, so it’s only a matter of time before they find this place.”

  “OK. This evening, I’ll scout a couple of places I’ve looked at the last couple of days. I think you’re ready. You’re moving around more and eating everything I bring.”

  That last sounded like she was ribbing me a little. Hmm, that was new.

  “Well, I am on the mend,” I said innocently.

  She chuckled. “I was going to say, ‘Don’t worry about it,’ but I see you aren’t concerned with my hunger and all of the trouble I’m going to to feed you.”

  “Oh, I’m concerned. I’m kind of getting tired of those protein bars. You think you could bring a steak or a burger or something next time?”

  She flipped me off, and I laughed. “Seriously, are these places good? How far are they?”

  “About a mile and a half east and a little north. Less buildings and less people. Remote and probably good for a few days.” She glanced back over her shoulder at me. “And closer to the marina.”

  I nodded. We had talked about the next step. I had a hard time believing the Corporations had thrown nukes at each other. They had to know they both had mutual destruction plans. And from what Lady could tell from eavesdropping, Teledyne had launched first. Guess we should have paid attention to Sanford’s gut.

  * * *

  7

  I was getting restless and digging around the lab. I hadn’t found much new, but I had organized everything we had. I was also thinking about our exit.

  “Look, Lady. We haven’t shared a lot, and I don’t know why you’re helping me, but I remember what this building was and what’s around it. I also remember what’s down one level, if we can get there.”

  “You have my attention.”

  “There was a pretty substantial armory down there.”

  She looked at me unbelievingly for a second, then shook her head. “Just what do you mean by an armory?”

  “I have no idea what’s left,” I said with my hands up. “I know the shit went down while I was in that thing.” I nodded toward the cylinder she had helped me out of. “But, I don’t know what happened here or how long I was in there. I just know the armory’s down two flights of stairs with some serious doors in the way.”

  She looked at me for a second. “OK, so, I haven’t seen those doors, and I’ve been all over this place.”

  “Well, the people who ran this place were kind of paranoid…”

  I pushed through the rubble at the back of the lab and pulled on the single blank door. It didn’t budge, so I anchored my feet and really pulled. There was a loud snap as the locking mechanism shattered.

  “I am really glad that wasn’t locked,” I said, and she rolled her eyes. “This is the entrance from
the elevator. The stairwell on the other side just comes down to this level, and the stairwell going down starts on this level.”

  I held the door and motioned through with a gallant bow. “After you m’Lady.”

  She gave me that lopsided smile and sashayed through with one arm high and her chin in the air. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  As we moved into the elevator corridor, I could see by the emergency lighting. There were a couple of random piles of document boxes and computer pads. It looked like someone had been staging an exit and didn’t come back for the last couple of loads. The air was thick, and there wasn’t any circulation.

  “I’ll go first.”

  She didn’t seem inclined to argue.

  I carefully moved down the stairs to the double doors leading into the armory. One stood open, and the same emergency lighting illuminated the area.

  “This doesn’t look promising, Mister,” she whispered.

  I nodded once and motioned for her to stay behind me.

  “I’ll check it out and be right back.” She nodded and moved next to the wall.

  As I walked into the armory, it was obvious that whoever had cleared it out wasn’t Arty the Armorer. I almost chuckled as I thought of his face every time I called him that. He was a really good sport, though, and let me play with the new things. Because of that, I knew where he stashed them. I just hoped whoever cleaned the place out hadn’t known it, too.

  Arty’s office door was open, and his desk had been ransacked. I walked over to the statue of John Browning and Sam Colt shaking hands and tapped the bottom of the stand with my foot. The spring-loaded drawer popped open, revealing just enough room for a skeleton key and a flashlight. I checked the flashlight and pocketed it, then I picked up the key. A similar opening on the opposite side of the base revealed a keyhole. I inserted the skeleton key and turned it, and the wall behind Arty’s desk popped open, revealing his secret closet. Like I said, paranoid.

  I took the flashlight and looked at his stash. Some of it was gone, but what was left was orderly, so I figured Arty left on his own. My heart sped up a bit as I saw what was there. I lifted a plain, unassuming aluminum case onto the work table and popped the latches. I didn’t need to see the pistols inside; I knew they were there from the weight. Still, the sight of the two stainless Sig P10’s made my heart warm. These were the beauties I spent nearly two full days handling and firing before the nanite treatment. Gray, stainless frames with ironwood grips and 4.5-inch match grade barrels—they were sweet pistols. I dug out the shoulder holster, a small-of-the-back holster, and several extra mags.