Afterlife (10 page)

Russell:

I thought I saw black shadows running toward the bayou, running through the shifting rain. There were only a few lights on inside the plant, an early shift that started at 5
A.M
. Puddles glittered and shivered in the half-light of early dawn, while rivulets of dark water forged a brave course, daring to band together to form tiny streams that thickened, broad cold veins that pushed toward freedom. I darted through the grumbling storm, reached the side doors and punched in my code.

A second later I breezed across the threshold, wet, a chill spreading over my shoulders.

My vision blurred, focused, blurred again. I stumbled through shadows toward the lab, legs and arms stiff from my genetic cocktail. I got lost once, turned down an empty, darkened corridor and tripped over a rolling cart that someone had left out.

A lifeless clone stared up at me. Eyes open, mouth parted.

It lay on the cart, draped in a white linen sheet, waiting—
for life, for someone to claim it and make it real, to fill it with emotion and thought and purpose.

As if any of us really has purpose.

I shrugged it off, shook my head, felt the cold seeping through my clothes.
I shouldn't be here
, I thought, as I stumbled away. I should have stayed at home and let the dark night pass. I should have curled at the foot of my daughter's bed, glad that she was still safe.

But here I was, blundering my way through an echoing darkness, ignoring the occasional employee that darted across my path.

I was at the door to the lab now.
Maybe I should just go home. Wait until my head clears. Let my flesh take one more step toward complete decomposition.
Then I saw something. Light flooding out from beneath the door.

I forced the door open.

Companionship was something that I craved, an antidote to the space that flowed between me and everyone else. They were only lab animals, subjected to the worst treatment imaginable. But they were living creatures and I craved life.

I pushed my way across the room: my legs wooden now, all elasticity gone. The euphoric high would dissipate in a moment, my vision would clear. But the cages were empty. I snarled as I passed each one, growling uncontrollably, searching for some beast to meet me in this place of the animal that I inhabited. But there was no one.

I was the only beast here.

I knew then what I had seen outside. Ellen had been here, she had taken Omega and together they had run toward the bayou.

I felt a growl, deep inside my chest, reverberating, resonating. It ebbed and flowed, like river water through a tide of delta mud. I sucked in each breath, my lips hot, and my hands clenched at my sides. The muscles in my chest stretched and
expanded in one last band of steel and I could feel the buttons on my shirt strain. I closed my eyes. Red flames roared somewhere in the back of my mind.

I heard footsteps coming closer, gentle and soft. It was her.

She had just murdered my mother and here she was coming, ready to kill my daughter too. The door opened and I grabbed her by the arm, pulled her inside, closed the door so no one could see us together. She was wet, fragrant from the lightning and the thunder. I know now that it was probably rain on her face and hands.

But to me she was drenched in blood.

 

My vision blurred.

Focused.

Ellen was on the floor, my hands around her neck. And then she was lying limp. Crooked. Her legs and arms twisted and unnatural. Something was wrong.

The dog was gone. The research, all the files were missing.

And now she was dead.

I sat in a chair, stared out the window. Saw the sun crest the distant trees, push its way through clouds. It wouldn't win. Darkness and rain would prevail. It was the season of storms. I drummed my hand on the counter. Fingertips making patterns of blood on the ceramic tile.

Sorrow filtered through, remorse for what I'd done—emotions I hadn't felt in years. Ellen was the only person I had been able to confide in, the only one who really understood. And now she was gone. I looked back at the floor. She was so still, so quiet. Suddenly something snapped inside of me.

What if she resurrects? What if she remembers that I murdered her?

I had to get her into an isolation chamber and make sure she didn't download. Then I realized that I was going to need help.

I rinsed my hands in the sink, then tapped the Verse jack in my left ear. Commanded it to contact a familiar number. Heard a sleepy voice, a voice I'd known since childhood.

“I need you—I need you to help me with something.” My voice cracked, something I hadn't expected. “How soon can you be at the lab?”

“Boss? What's wrong?”

“I can't, not now. Just hurry, Pete. Meet me in the isolation chamber up on the third floor, the one that's right above my lab.”

“Russ, is you—”

“Just hurry.”

I couldn't talk anymore. I had to dispose of Ellen's body. I knelt beside her, this altar of flesh and bone that I had knelt before countless times when passion surged through me. But tonight the wrong passion had conquered.

And now my altar was gone.

Omega:

The dog ran through the rain, paws striking pavement, then dirt, and then finally river water. He was swimming. Across a steady slow-moving current, then up a shallow bank. Away. He was running away.

The woman was running beside him at first, talking to him, her hand on his head. At one point she knelt beside him, buried her face in his thick black coat. He thought he heard something in her voice, a choking sound.

He paused, laid his head in her lap.

She ran her fingers through the thick mane of golden-tipped fur around his neck. She understood. She always did. That was why she was sad. Why she was crying.

He glanced backward. Lifted his head and sniffed. She seemed to sense the danger too, began to run again, leading him deeper into the bayou.

“Come on,” she said. “Run, hurry! You can't stop. You can never stop, do you hear me?”

He looked up at her.

“They'll come after you. You have to hide.”

They continued to run, but her pace was slowing.

“Keep going! Never come back, never. Do you hear me? Never!”

Then she wasn't running with him anymore. He was alone in the thick, dark morning, swimming through brackish water, paws scraping against stone and bark and earth. Running. Faster. In between trees and black sky. Above him the dull heavens growled and sharp white fangs shot down; they splintered the ground with hot light.

But Omega kept running.

He wouldn't stop. And he wouldn't go back.

 

The rain stopped. Daylight teased the bayou with narrow beams of light. Steam rose in puffs from the river, a haze that hung between shifting shadows. Day and night merged, neither one strong enough to own this place. Omega crouched beneath a low bush. Hiding. Listening.

He burrowed his nose in the moss, closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, a sigh.

The woman was gone now. The woman who smelled like sunshine. He would never see her again.

He heard the Others in the distance, had heard them for a long time. Sniffing. Hunting. Howling. They had come to him before, when he lived in the cage, when life was divided into those who are trapped and those who are free. They sniffed around the edges of his world at night when no one else was there. He could hear their claws scratching on the other side of the wall, he could smell them. He knew when their females were in heat and when they had just killed a rabbit; he knew the deep growl of their leader.

Sometimes they howled just outside the door. Like they were waiting for him. Calling him.

And they were here now. The wild dogs. He sniffed the
black air. Two females. Four males. The Others knew he was here, somewhere. He could tell they were looking for him.

And they were hungry.

 

Five dogs made a circle around him. The leader lowered her head, pulled her lips back to show massive canines, then let out a long, snarling growl.

She tried to get him to back up. Run away. Roll over and submit.

Omega refused.

She took a step closer, eyes reflecting the dark afternoon light. She had a wild look, long bushy tail, silver fur. Wolf blood. Her muzzle opened wide, then snapped shut. Another long growl, another step nearer. The rest of the pack followed her lead, each one taking another step closer, the circle grew smaller.

Omega lowered his head. He wouldn't run.

She charged forward, in that instant when he bared his teeth. She latched onto his throat, dug her teeth in. The entire pack erupted in a low wolf-lion growl, a rumbling roar. They all attacked at the same time. Fur ripped. Bones crunched.

Omega squealed, a high-pitched whine, a death cry.

The female leader lifted her head and snapped at the air.

The Others backed away. It was her kill. It was her right.

Omega cried, took a last breath, blood flowing. He trembled.

Then he was still.

Dead.

The female stood guard over her kill, turned and snapped at the submissive female behind her. The other female backed up, lowered her head. Whimpered. The rest of the pack pulled away. Moved over by the edge of the river. Watching.

The female lowered her muzzle, pushed it against Omega's chest. Cold. Lifeless. She sniffed. Then she opened her jaws, ready to rip flesh, ready to eat.

 

Darkness flowed over him like a river, all light disappeared. Black ice. Cold. Silent and numb. His blood—the dark, cold river was his blood. He couldn't see.

Omega fell backward into the arms of Death, those familiar arms that tried to hold him down.

For one brief second he could smell sunshine. And he remembered an eternal moment when he was loved. Once. A forever long time ago.

Then the earth cracked beneath him. The sky changed color. The air turned to smoke.

And he shocked back to life. Again.

His bones mended, his wounds closed. Lifeblood flowed through his veins.

He opened his eyes, saw the female lunge for his soft belly, for his entrails.

He grabbed her by the throat, a vise-like grip, his teeth pressing against the vein that held her life. In that instant, she was his. To kill or not kill.

He jumped to his feet, twisted his body, pinned her to the ground.

She bellowed, whimpered, a loud, high, whining yelp.

The Others could have helped her. But they didn't. This was the battle for leadership.

To kill or not kill.

She looked away, the whites of her eyes showing. She couldn't look him in the eye, didn't dare. She rolled on her back. Submissive. Tucked her tail between her legs. The Others crouched low, afraid.

Omega growled. Held her down. Held her life in his mouth. He could taste her death. Sweet and warm.

She whined again. Twisted her head to lick one of his healing wounds. Then she laid her head back on the ground. Waiting.

He opened his jaws, slowly. A low, rumbling snarl. He lifted his head. Looked at the Others. None of them would look him in the eye. The female was the only one who dared to move.

She licked his wound again.

His decision came easier than he expected.

Not kill.

October 12

Chaz:

Flames sizzled and flickered, the bathroom door buckled and groaned. A bitter stillness hung in Isabelle's bedroom as I focused on the door; heat radiated in waves, embers burning, following the wood grain, popping in concentric patterns. Any second now, the fire could spread into the walls and the whole room could burst into flame. I still wasn't sure, but it was possible that the peron I loved more than any other was trapped inside.

Isabelle.

The perfect, innocent child that I always wished had been mine.

I froze in front of the bathroom door, surrounded by a graveyard of children, their singed bodies an Escher puzzle of death. Guilt settled in my throat, like I had swallowed a mouthful of ash. My fault. All my fault.

And beneath it all, I heard a voice hissing, a dark taunting undercurrent, a voice I instantly recognized.

You can't save your niece. You're already too late.

“Isabelle!” I cried, ignoring my inner demon. I leaned toward the door, tried to figure out what to do. “Isabelle, are you in there?”

My mind filled with doubt. Then a voice echoed mine; pitifully weak, it strained through the whipping crackle and the snarling fire. I almost didn't hear it.

“Uncle Chaz! Help, the fire—”

The door buckled toward me and smoke burned my eyes.

Just then an automatic fire extinguisher snapped on, a filmy foam that covered everything in the room. It slid over my skin, stung when it hit my eyes. I blinked it away. Liquid light isn't like regular fire. It can't be quenched like this. It feeds off the electrical impulses that flow through humans and animals, and right now it was feasting on something. A body had to be on the other side of the door, a body that, hopefully, was still alive.

“The beacon protectors,” a voice whispered behind me. I turned and saw Pete leaning against the wall, his legs trembling. He pointed to the dead children on the floor. “They catches the liquid light.”

I cursed under my breath. How had we missed this? No one at Fresh Start had tested the BPs with liquid light; we never anticipated that anyone would use it on kids. I reached down and snapped a collar off the nearest child, switched it on, then tossed it to a far corner. Almost instantly a thin line of snarling fire darted away from the bathroom door, zapped into the collar and stayed there.

Pete and Russ were both beside me then, struggling to stand, peeling the collars off the dead children, turning them on and hastily flinging them away. Each time, a por
tion of the liquid light shot out hungrily, a bleeding trail of fire and light that latched onto a collar, then zapped inside, instantly imprisoned.

The pressure on the door was lessening. It sagged on weary hinges now, flames reduced to fading embers.

“Move away from the door!” I yelled to whoever was on the other side.

“Uncle Chaz, wait—”

I heard a scuffling, thought I heard another little girl crying, “No, I can't, I'm afraid.”

Then Isabelle spoke again, her brave voice quivering, “Okay, we moved.”

“Cover your face,” I said, then I grabbed a chair, swung it against the door. It cracked down the middle, shivered and splintered, a shower of sparks and firefly light. My shoulders and hands burned from the heat.

Let them be okay, please let them be okay
, I pleaded, afraid to see who was on the other side, grateful that at least Isabelle sounded safe.

Another swing. Broken chair against broken door. Hinges snapped. Beside me Russ began to pull the wood away with his bare hands; he yanked half the door back and tossed it behind us, a smoldering birthday-party memento.

“Isabelle, baby,” he said, his voice a hoarse whispering growl. Tears coursed his face, ran between the veil of dusky ash and silky foam.

My brother spent so much of his life hiding his emotions that I was shocked by the raw panic I saw in his shaking hands. This wasn't the after-effects of liquid light. It was the combination of love and fear, that deep well of courage we draw from when we have to win the battle. It was the first time I realized how much he loved his daughter.

We could see inside the small room then, all three of us.
Half the door had been ripped off, the other half was crumbling and charred.

Isabelle stood against a far wall. Wide-eyed and scared, but alive.

She held hands with another little girl, a delicate red-haired child with almost elfish features. Both of them were safe, unharmed.

Then I saw the body on the floor, lying facedown, arms outstretched and blackened.
Angelique
. Somehow she had saved the girls, had put herself in between them and the liquid light. Her body must have absorbed the electric fire; the current must have run up one of her arms and then back down the other, a continuous circuit.

Isabelle must have pulled her away from the door just a moment ago. I could see the palms of my niece's hands now, blackened by the lingering fire.

I let Russ shoulder his way through the door first, let him scoop his daughter into his trembling arms. Pete staggered into the room next and carried out the little redhead. After they had both made their way out, I went inside, knelt down beside the Newbie that I had vowed to protect, pressed my fingers against the jugular vein in her neck, praying for a heartbeat, some lingering sign of life.

A faint pulse. Or maybe it was just my own heartbeat that I felt.

“Angelique.”

I gently turned her body over, winced when her muscles hung limp. I couldn't tell if she was breathing.

“Angelique.” I cupped her face in my hand. “Wake up. Focus.”

The mugs were in the house now, charging up the stairs, heavy voices barking orders. In a few minutes a VR station would be set up and the rest of the world would watch
as the investigation began. We would be judged before any evidence was even gathered.

Angelique. Don't jump. Stay.

Her eyes fluttered, then her mouth opened and she sucked in a deep breath, coughed black ash from her lungs. She shuddered and I turned her on her side. She coughed again.

Angelique. Live, please.

She braced one hand on the floor, lifted her head and looked through the door into the bedroom. I followed her gaze and saw the labyrinth of dead children, arms and legs twisted. Black death everywhere.

Tears welled in her eyes.

With an expression of horror, she glanced down at her hands, scorched from the liquid light. It looked like she was wearing black evening gloves that went up to her elbows. “What happened?” She turned back and stared at the makeshift cemetery that used to be Isabelle's bedroom. “Who would do this?”

Obviously she didn't remember risking her life to save my niece, didn't know that she had just crossed over into the exalted territory of hero.

“Angelique,” I said, trying to calm her. “Recognize. I'm your Babysitter—”

“Babysitter?” She cocked her head, facing me now. “But, but…I'm not a Newbie—”

“Focus.” She didn't even remember who she was. “Recognize—”

“I'm not a Newbie—I'm a lawyer. I've got a case this afternoon. I've got to get out of here—”

But I didn't have time to break through the roadblocks her brain was putting up, the natural defense mechanism Fresh Start installed to prevent her circuits from getting fried in a situation like this. A mug suddenly materialized in the door
way behind us, a hulking silhouette against the bright lights that now swept through the bedroom.

“Just hold on there, both of ya. Stay right where ya are.” His face was invisible, masked in black shadow, but I recognized him immediately. Lieutenant Skellar.

“You know the drill, Domingue,” he said. “Come on, hands out and don't try nothin' stupid. As far as I'm concerned, your Babysitter status is gone.”