The Lost & Damned 2
Page 1
SILVER:
The Lost & Damned
(Part Two)
Written By
Keira Michelle Telford
Copyright © Keira Michelle Telford 2012
Venatic Press
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chimera & Cover Artwork by
Kitt Lapeña
www.facebook.com/scarypet
scarypet.deviantart.com
Other Books in the Series…
SILVER: Acheron (A River of Pain)
SILVER: The Lost & Damned (Part One)
WWW.ELLACROSS.COM
JOIN THE FIGHT
“The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.”
-- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Amaranthe & Surrounding Area
(Circa 2348 CE)
Chimera
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ZERO
Terminus
The Fringe District
Amaranthe, 2348 CE
– Three Months Ago
At the southernmost edge of the Fringe, the Police Division van pulls up alongside a warehouse that’s decorated with Omega emblems. Silver’s led out of the van, leaving Luka behind, and is escorted through the nondescript entranceway where a dark stairwell leads them up several hundred feet to the very top floor.
Here, the Police Division Agents drag her into an all-too-familiar room.
The enforcement bay.
Just three walls and a roof, the fourth wall never existed. Backing directly out onto the ocean, this place used to be an Old World shipping warehouse. Construction materials were routinely hauled out from this room onto the transport boats waiting below, using an old pulley system.
Now, though, it’s just a place of death.
Her hands cuffed behind her back, Silver’s led to the far side of the room in front of the drop and forced to kneel. She’s walked this floor so many times before, but never on this side of the gun. Where she kneels, the floor is stained with blood.
Once they have her in position, the Police Division Agents stand aside and congregate in the corner of the room, some turning their backs on her. A moment or two later, someone else enters the room.
The Enforcer.
Silver can tell by the lack of confidence in his step that he’s a virgin in this room. His boney frame and gaunt features show that he’s gone without a proper meal for quite some time. He’s malnourished, and desperate to rid himself of the disease of poverty. Upon seeing Silver, he hesitates, but approaches her nonetheless. Standing within two feet of her, he aims an HK UMP sub-machine gun at her head.
Worse than being an enforcement virgin, Silver takes one look at the unsteadiness in his hands and knows he’s never even fired a weapon. At least, he’s never killed anything before—especially not a human.
“Do you know me?” she asks.
The Enforcer nods.
“Then do me a favor.” For his sake, she tries to sound as if she means it. “Shoot me.”
CHAPTER ONE
The Uniform
The Fringe District
Amaranthe, 2348 CE
– Present Day
Lit up against the night sky, a warehouse in South Town, in the Fringe District, is the designated spot for a little midnight business. On the door, two runic code symbols inform passersby that this is a meeting place , but that anyone venturing here should keep a wary eye out for the occasional patrolling Police Division Agent .
Inside, the remnants of an Old World vinegar factory lay shattered and broken. To one side of the room, a table is filled with weapons and five figures—three male, two female—fuss around it.
An arms deal is in progress.
Silently, a convoy of armored Police Division vehicles pulls up outside the building and fills the empty street. Within seconds, seven uniformed Agents, all armed with standard issue PP-2000 sub-machine guns, prepare to storm the room where the arms deal is taking place.
Initially, stealth serves them well.
Thermal imaging devices tell them what to expect on the other side of the door, so they won’t be going in blind. They each switch on night vision lenses built directly into the visors of their helmets, and a technician prepares to cut the power to the building.
He waits for the signal.
C-4 blocks are laid around the main entranceway, and the lead Agent gives the techie the hand gesture he’s been waiting for.
The warehouse goes dark, and …
BOOM!
The C-4 is instantly detonated, and the front door is blown inward. Two Agents move in, armed with shock grenades—the gentler version of a stun grenade. Stun grenades generate a flash of light so bright it’ll temporarily blind you, and a noise so loud it’ll bring you to your knees, whether you’re prepared for it or not. In comparison, shock grenades let off a brief fireball and emit a rapid thunderclap noise, not unlike a firecracker on steroids.
It’s designed to disorient the enemy without disrupting the ambush, and it works. Civilian humans and Chimera can’t override their brain’s confusion at such a bombardment of sensory information. Agents and Hunters, on the other hand, are trained to withstand it.
Needless to say, the combination of the sudden power outage, the explosion, and the grenades sends the arms dealers into a wild panic. Four out of five figures scramble for cover, drop to the floor, or grab weapons and start firing aimlessly into the dark.
Four out of five.
The fifth figure takes advantage of the ruckus, thieves an HK MP7 off the table, and tries to make a break for it. She knows better than to instigate a doomed fire fight with the far more capable Police Division Agents.
Assessing her options and dodging bullets, she bolts for a fire escape doorway. Even in the dark, she knows where to find it. A trained Hunter, she’s been taught the benefits of being able to photographically memorize the details of a location, just in case your life depends upon it.
And it often does.
Unfortunately, she hasn’t counted on the explosion unexpectedly redesigning the floor space. Tripping on some Old World debris displaced by the C-4, she hits the concrete floor knee first.
Searing pain.
Clenching her jaw, she tries to get back up, but feels the barrel of a PP-2000 pressed up against the back of her head. Silently cursing, she turns to face the Agent. In the pitch darkness, broken only by the momentary flashes of shock grenades and the firing of weapons, she can’t make out the name on his Kevlar vest.
He hesitates, though. Through his night vision lenses, he can see her perfectly.
Silver.
His weapon lowers slightly and Silver, confused, takes her chance and bolts out of the doorway—with the HK MP7—before he has a chance to reconsider. Now it’s his turn to curse, and he makes chase again. Confidently kicking open the fire escape door, he steps outside …
Thwack!
A lead pipe strikes him across the side of his helmet and he falls to his knees. His gun clatters to the ground, and he pulls off his helmet to stop the noise and the vibration of the impact from reverberating around his skull.
Sensing movement behind him, he reaches out to grab the lead pipe before it can hit him again. He wrenches it from Silver’s hand and swings around to look at her.
She takes a step back, backing into a trash can and sending frightened rats scattering across the parking lot. “You work for them now?”
Alex stands in front of her, rubbing his sore he
ad. “That was one hell of a hit.”
She comes closer to him and slaps him hard across the face. “That’s for scaring the shit out of me. You could’ve killed me.”
He grabs her by the wrist, inhibiting further violence and holding her close. “I’ve been looking for you. I only took this job so that I could find you.”
“You’re over-qualified.” She pulls her wrist free. “A Hunter in a Police Division uniform. It’s a joke!”
“I want to see you.”
“Aren’t you here to arrest me?”
“Not if you get away. Tell me where you’re staying.”
“Not a chance.” She shakes her head vehemently. “They’ll track you.”
“Maydevine wouldn’t—”
“I said no,” she cuts him off. “He can’t know, and neither can anyone else. The last time someone found out where I lived, my whole life went to shit.”
Phaeden.
Alice.
Kidnapping.
Attempted murder.
Yup, that was all pretty shitty. One might question the state of her life before Maydevine’s fateful rooftop proposition, though. Battling starvation and disease, barely keeping herself or Alice alive anyway. But Alex doesn’t want to go there.
“Okay.” He sighs, opting not to press her on the subject. “Somewhere else, then?”
“Great Kills Park?”
It’s a coastal area on the South Town-Mid Town border. It’s a slum.
“What? Tent City?” He shakes his head. “Not there. Somewhere private.”
“Tent City’s perfect,” Silver pushes. “Fishers patrol there all the time and Omega won’t think twice if your tag broadcasts from a location like that.”
“If that’s your only concern, then how about that bar we used to go to? The place where you saw your first pit fight?”
“Kink Central? Pit fights downstairs, brothel upstairs? Thanks, but no. It wasn’t appealing to me the first time, and it’s not appealing to me now.”
“Come on.” He nudges her. “Our first kiss …”
Silver grimaces. “Don’t remind me.”
“Admit it, it’s ideal. Hunters and Agents use it to meet Jades all the time. It’s more likely to be a red flag on my record if I didn’t go there.”
“The woods are private, so how about Willowbrook?”
“By the ruins of the old mental institution? Are you fucking kidding me? Lurkers creep me out and Ripper trash stinks. You really wanna smell like human soup?”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“And so are you. Kink Central’s fine. It has four walls and a roof, not to mention a bed. So it ranks several thousand levels higher than the woods, if you ask me.”
“Fine,” Silver relents, despite her open disgust. “But if we end up with lice, I’m blaming you.”
Instead of giving him the chance to respond, she punches him hard across the face.
“What the fuck?!” he yells, taken by surprise.
“Just to make it look realistic.” She grins and plants a kiss on his cheek, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “By the way, you look really good in the uniform.”
She winks before she sprints away into the darkness, the stolen HK MP7 still firmly in her possession.
“Tomorrow night,” he calls out after her, shouting into the bleak darkness. “Don’t be late.”
CHAPTER TWO
Kink Central
Rejected.
Alex tries to insert the room key into the door lock, but the lock refuses to accept it.
Again.
Still rejected.
About to head back down to the lobby to complain, Alex realizes it doesn’t even matter. Inspecting some suspicious scratches on the surface of the lock, he finds it broken. A quick jiggle and the door pops open voluntarily.
He pushes it wide open to reveal a sleazy, cheap whorehouse bedroom. The carpets are stained with bodily fluids and decades of other gunk. The vintage Old World drapes are torn and tattered, barely still able to perform the function for which they were once intended. What remains of them flutters and twirls in the breeze, flowing in through the hole in the wall where the window used to be. The mirror on the dresser is cracked, the glass tarnished and smeared with fingerprints. Other people’s discarded clothes are strewn about the floor, and the bullet holes in the walls and ceiling are too numerous to count.
Closing the door behind him, Alex sets down the hold-all he’s been carrying and uses a broken coffee table to prop up under the door handle, keeping the room about as secure as it’s ever going to get. Without legs, the coffee table’s just a wooden board, covered with graffiti and razorblade scratches. After so many years of abuse, there are traces of white powder now permanently embedded into the grooves.
Satisfied that the table is firmly stuck in place, Alex pulls back from it, disgusted to find a thick, mucus-like substance coating the fingers of his left hand.
“Mutant snails, I hope.”
Unlikely.
In the adjoining bathroom, where Alex goes to wash up, flies swarm around the bathtub. It’s stained with the blood of the room’s last guest. The toilet bowl is filled with vomit, the surrounding tiles splattered with sticky remnants that fell short of their target destination. Pinned alongside one edge of the bathroom mirror, there’s an assortment of ‘business cards’. Some are phone numbers written on napkins. Others are written on scraps of paper, or torn cardboard strips.
For a good time, call …
Happy ending massage.
Tricks for $$$.
Fusion fun.
Turning on the basin faucet, Alex waits for the arrival of water.
Waits.
And waits.
Somewhere in the plumbing system, the pipes begin to tremor and shake. A leak beneath the basin, dripping onto the toe of his boot, indicates that water is available. He hits the faucet.
Once.
Twice.
Before the third strike, the pipe screeches and something within it dislodges. Out plops a small package, wrapped and bound within a translucent plastic bag.
Human teeth.
Followed by a stream of water.
Unsure what to make of that, Alex washes his hands, electing not to dry them on the blood soaked towel that’s bundled on the floor at his feet.
Back in the bedroom, a voice shocks him into reaching for his gun.
“Still think this is better than the woods?”
Silver.
Perched on the dresser beside the ‘window’, she scowls at her surroundings. A dead crow is pinned to the wall above her head, its wings outstretched. Dribbles of blood stain the wall where they trickled down before they clotted and dried.
Alex shrugs. “Some people would call that art.”
“And that?” She nods toward the bed.
Upon the sheets, a severed finger.
Alex cocks an eyebrow. “I’d call that a tragic accident.”
Silver hops off the dresser, hauling something cylindrical behind her.
“Welcome to the Fringe.” She tosses the balled up thing at Alex. “I brought my own blanket.”
Alex examines the woolen blanket, tied up with hot bridge wire, and watches Silver strip the sheets off the bed. The mattress is covered in dry blood, seeped halfway through the thickness of it.
“Help me to flip this,” she asks of him.
“Don’t you think we should talk first?”
“Don’t worry, you’re not getting laid. Not even close. I just want somewhere dry to sit.”
Together, they flip the mattress and spread the blanket out over top of it. The final result is a one hundred percent improvement over the room’s original condition. Content with that, Silver pulls off her boots and shuffles into the middle of the blanket, expecting Alex to follow suit.
Instead, he just stares at her.
Silver grows uneasy. “What? Do I have a bug on me or something?”
“I’m so glad you’re alive.”
The sincerity in his voice is so naked, Silver’s lost for words.
“The last time I saw you,” he continues, “you were about to be enforced for treason.”
“The last time you saw me, I punched you in the face.”
Alex refuses to let her make light of it. “You know what I mean.” He settles on the bed, dragging the hold-all with him. “You didn’t have to do it, Silver. There would’ve been another way.”
She shakes her head. “You know that’s not true. McKean testified against me, and I would’ve been convicted of treason whether I confessed to it or not. Besides, without my testimony, the others would’ve had their warrants reinstated—I couldn’t let that happen. And you … you’d have been implicated, too.”
“Maydevine—”
“Can’t know that you’re seeing me,” Silver breaks in on his train of thought, sending the conversation spiraling in a different direction. “He can’t know that you’ve found me.”
“Why not? What the hell happened between you two?”
Silver looks down at her bare feet, playing with the spuds between her toes, pulling out the little clumps of sock fluff and lint that accumulate when your feet sweat inside your shoes.
“Our last encounter didn’t end that well.”
“No shit. I’ve never seen the old man so tense. Almost every Agent assigned to the Fringe District has had their orders temporarily suspended, pending the priority retrieval of Ella Cross.”
“He does know that I’m an adult now, right?”
“He can’t stand not knowing where you are, El. For six years, he was there for you, bringing you supplies and keeping you safe. Now that you’re out here completely on your own, he’s a wreck.” Alex’s jaw tightens. “So I guess now he knows how I felt.”
That brings back some unwanted memories.