DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (2 page)

I nodded. “She sees. Thank you. Consider it retracted.”

The teen offered me an easy smile. “Ain't no skin off me, but Roy don't need more stress. Name's Martin, by the by.” I nodded to him.

Roy shook his head. “Naw, it ain't no secret. It's...” He raised his hands, let them fall. “You do something like that, you go to war, you save lives... you do something big. Right? You make a big difference, you know you done it, and everyone around knows. You do the best thing you ever did in your life. Right?” I nodded, not sure where he was going. He sighed, and continued. “Right. So I did my really big thing early in life. After that, I didn't know what the hell to do with myself. So I got stupid.”

Sparky reached up, punched him in the side. “Don't sell yourself short. You married Donna, Roy. That was smart.”

“That was a momentary act of dumbness on her part, Sparky.” He rubbed his ribs, jabbed a finger into Sparky's shoulder. “Won't say it wasn't good, but she put up with me way longer'n I woulda, if I were in her shoes.” He shrugged. “Long story short, I drank away money, pissed away jobs, and pissed off the missus. Didn't have no place to go once I was out, and I ended up here. Least I got one old idiot here worse'n me.”

He slapped Sparky's chair. Sparky scowled, and jammed an elbow back into his friend. Roy swore, and Sparky cackled.

“Yeah. This is pretty much a place where people who fall through the cracks end up.” Martin said. “Used to be pretty rough, before Sparky and Roy got here. So I hear, anyway.”

I looked to them, raised an eyebrow.

Roy shrugged. “There's a bunch of jerks around. This is gang turf for a bad bunch that call themselves the Black Bloods. They run when Sparky breaks out the light show. So yeah. It ain't the beaches at Normandy, but it's something we can do.”

I tilted my head. “You have powers, too?”

“Naw, but I got two more friends. Mister Smith and Mister Wesson.” He opened his coat. There was a gun holstered in there, tucked between the trench coat and a tweed jacket. Splits in the seams indicated more layers below. He let the coat fall closed. “Don't have to use it much, to be honest. Ain't nothing worth fighting for here. And they can sell drugs all they like, just up the parkway a ways.” He gestured. “That's the rules.”

“There's more to it than that,” said Martin, “but it don't matter so much. Not much out here on the shore. Couple dozen living off the grid, if you can call it living. Though...” He looked over to the dark city, just a few streets away, at the collapsed and smoldering building. We listened to the gunshots on the wind, and the distant cries of alarm and fear winding through the night. He swallowed. “Though it looks like tonight, everyone's living off the grid.”

I nodded. “Is there shelter available? Dire can pay.”

Roy shrugged. “Joan?”

Joan nodded. “Room in the women's tents for one more. Won't need pay, but we won't turn it down. Couple of bucks all right?”

I frowned. “She has only money, no deer.”

“What has that got to—”

“Bucks and does. Funny,” Roy wheezed. He slapped my shoulder, and I did my best not to jump at his touch. “Good one, lady. But yeah, your money's good here. Joan can show you the way.”

I rubbed my shoulder where he'd slapped it. The brief warmth had reminded me just how cold it was out here. The barrel fire helped, but didn't negate the chill. Joan took my hand and steered me through the crowd, past a crowd of giggling children, around a bald, middle-aged man who was having a serious talk with himself about spiders, and over a passed-out woman who reeked of chemicals.

Alcohol. The glass bottles around her lent credence to the notion. I pursued the memory, came up with a brick wall. Locked out of my own brain... I scowled, looking out into the night.

We came to a large white tent, set upon a wooden platform.

“Here we are, hun.” Joan held the curtain open, pointed to a welcome mat. “Wipe your feet, okay?”

She led me into a makeshift hallway, with plastic and cloth partitions to either side. The squat woman checked a couple, then pulled one open. “Here we go.”

I pointed to the lone lantern dangling from a central hook in the hallway. “How does that suffice to heat the entire tent?”

She chuckled. “It doesn't. We're just really well insulated, and the body heat helps. Got about twenty people in here, and as long as no one leaves the door open it builds up. Got two layers of cloth for the tent walls. Roof's got actual insulation between its layers, and the partitions help trap it too. The platform below's filled in with gravel and sand, so we don't have cold air seeping through.”

The little 'room' Joan offered was perhaps four feet wide and seven feet long, but the pile of sheets in the back of it looked absolutely beautiful. It looked a little short for my six-foot frame, but I figured I'd cope. I pulled out my cash, counted out three dollars, and handed it over to Joan.

She took it and leaned in close. I ignored her smell as best I could, as our eyes met.

“Word of advice: Don't flash that again around here. Rules say no stealing, but that much money's mighty tempting to some, hun. Maybe find a couple of places on you to stash it, so when you pay for something you only show a little at a time? That'd probably work.”

I nodded. “So, what
are
the rules around here? No stealing? Anything else?”

“Don't hurt anyone, don't bring bad stuff down on us. Don't sell drugs here. Stay out of trouble as much as you can. There's a porta-john down the beach, crap there. Don't sleep with anyone in here, go outside for that or in their tent.” She scratched her head, leaned back a bit, shrugged.

“If you need anything ask for me. If I'm not around, ask for Minna. Speak real slow, she's from some other country. Oh, and try to be a good neighbor, 'kay? Um. Yeah, that's about it. Got anything else to discuss, hun?”

Nothing came to mind.

“Good. Sleep well, huh? Something tells me you've had a hard day.”

I smiled and pulled the partition shut. I removed my shoes, settled my possessions, and burrowed into the sheets. They were just as warm as they'd looked from outside the room.

And yet, I couldn't sleep. After a few restless minutes I moved back to the doorway of the tent and peeled the flap aside, peered out into the night. The dark ocean rolled on, and I traced my scalp, and the rough lines of crusty stitches. I'd remade my brain by my own methods. What had old me been thinking? She'd left a video explaining the methods behind her madness, but thanks to enemy interruption I'd only gotten through part of it. Inconvenient, that.

Light flashed on the shoreline, near the spill pipe.

Company? How had anyone survived the traps?

I gnawed my lip and looked toward the fire. Everyone left around it was still watching the city, flinching at the distant gunshots, and looking more worried with each passing minute.

No, I couldn't rest just yet. If I didn't go take care of my pursuers, one of my new friends might spot something and investigate. It wouldn't be right if they got hurt on my account. So I moved back into my little partition, grabbed my things, and slipped into the darkness once more. Back to the spill pipe, and as I went I pulled on my mask.

It worked like the first time I'd put it on. For a second everything was darkness, with flickering lights at the edge of my vision. Then it almost seemed to melt away, leaving my vision unobstructed. That was due to the screen inside, which mirrored what I would see if the mask wasn't present. It meant that I didn't need eye slits or anything to enhance my peripheral vision. For a second more the air was tight and clammy, then the rebreather kicked in, and I drew a normal breath.

The area around me kicked into focus as I went, the night vision extending my sight. I squinted toward the spill pipe, and my mask zoomed in without needing to be told. Someone was there, caught in the pylons under the piers. The light was a flashlight tactically-mounted on his assault rifle. The gun was caught up by its strap against a separate pylon, twisting in the waves and blinking every time it swung my way.

I pulled my pistol as I approached, kept it pointed at the struggling figure. He took no notice of me until I waded into the surf, and pulled his assault rifle free of the pylon.

Then he whipped his face around to peer at me, eyes and nose a pale gash through the slit of his balaclava. It was black, as were the other cloth parts of his outfit. The kevlar and plasteel of his partial body armor was a dull gray that matched his helmet. An insignia on the helmet made a crooked, crosshatched mess of lines in a vague spiral pattern.

My mask's display highlighted dark patches in the sand, and smears on the spillpipe. He hadn't made it through the traps unscathed.

“Help me,” he whispered.

“YOU WERE SHOOTING AT HER A FEW MINUTES AGO,” I muttered back. “NOW YOU WANT HER HELP?” He flinched. I didn't blame him. Even with the volume dialed down, my voice modulator's screeching howl sounded not unlike a cat going through a woodchipper.

“You! You should be dead—” He was interrupted by sudden motion, and fought to keep his hands around the pylon. The man was slipping backward, drawn toward the ocean. I eyed the dark water underneath the pier, and nodded. An undertow there, by the look of things. Cold water, that much blood lost, a strong undertow... no, he wouldn't last much longer without help. Could I get some answers here? Possibly.

“YOU'LL HAVE TO FORGIVE HER,” I said, trying to be polite. “SHE DOESN'T KNOW THE PROPER METHOD OF ADDRESSING AN ENEMY. WHAT IS THE PROPER THING TO SAY?”

“Fuck you bitch!”

“THANK YOU. VERY WELL, FUCK YOU BITCH, TOO.”

He stared at me, and I wondered if blood loss had made him stupid. I might not get much out of him after all. Still, no harm in trying.

“WHY DO YOU WISH DIRE DEAD?”

“Who the fuck is Dire?”

I tapped my chest. “HER. DIRE.”

His eyes shut. He lurched against the pier, took a mouthful of water, and sputtered. “Christ... a psycho...”

“WAIT. YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHO SHE WAS, AND YOU WANTED HER DEAD? WHY?”

“Orders. Just orders. Nothing personal.”

“OH. WELL, THAT'S GREAT EXCEPT FOR THE PART WHERE IT'S NOT. WHY DID YOU FOLLOW SUCH HORRIBLE ORDERS?”

“Legs. Can't feel my legs...”

“AH, THAT'S PROBABLY THE MONOFILAMENT MINES. DIRE ESTIMATED THEY WOULD ACCOUNT FOR AT LEAST THREE OF YOU, WHEN SHE FOUND THEM. KIND OF IMPRESSED THAT YOU MANAGED TO CRAWL THIS FAR PAST THEM.”

“Please...”

“PLEASE? NO. YOU'RE THE ONE TRYING TO KILL A STRANGER BECAUSE SOME JERK TOLD YOU TO. SAYING PLEASE WILL NOT AID YOU HERE.”

“Help me.”

“TELL HER WHO SENT YOU.”

“Web.”

“SHE DOESN'T KNOW THAT NAME.”

“Not a name. It's... organization...”

“OKAY. SO WHO IN THE ORGANIZATION SENT YOU?”

“Don't know. We're cells—” He coughed, and I saw there wasn't much left to him. His strength was ebbing. “Save me. Please.”

I sighed, and settled down on my haunches. “SEE, HERE'S THE THING. SHE'D BE TEMPTED TO DO SO, BUT THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE IN THE EQUATION NOW. AND IF YOU'RE THE SORT OF PERSON WHO KILLS STRANGERS WITHOUT CARING, YOU'RE THE SORT OF PERSON WHO WOULD BE A THREAT TO THEM.”

“Please. I won't...” more coughing.

I spread the fingers of my free hand. “NO. LOOK, THEY ACCEPTED HER WITHOUT ASKING AWKWARD QUESTIONS. THEY'RE FRIENDLY. SURE, THEY SMELL A LITTLE FUNNY, AND SURE, SOME OF THEM ARE PROBABLY INSANE. BUT THEY'RE THE FIRST FRIENDLY PEOPLE SHE'S MET TONIGHT. NOT GONNA LET YOU NEAR THEM.”

He was silent, and for a second I thought he'd finally lost consciousness. But then the sound of sobbing came to my ears, and I sighed.

“OKAY. OKAY, LOOK. HERE, SHE'LL DO YOU A FAVOR.”

“Save... me?”

“NOPE. BUT YOU WON'T HAVE TO SUFFER THROUGH DROWNING.” I looked around for a suitable piece of debris, and smiled when I found it. I pulled a 2-liter soda container from the shoreline, and jammed the barrel of my gun into the plastic neck.

He didn't have nightvision, so he couldn't see me aim the 2-liter toward him. Gripping the underside of the plastic as tightly as I could, I used my other hand to squeeze the trigger.

A red star bloomed in his forehead, just under the brim of the helmet. The sound of the shot echoed under the pier, but not half as loudly as it would have without my makeshift noise suppressor.

Gloved hands went limp, and the next wave carried his corpse beneath the waves. I tossed the now-holed soda container into the ocean and holstered my pistol again. I looked at the assault rifle, and decided against the upgrade. Too much of a risk to take, too noticeable. So I tossed it into the waves and walked out from under the pier, picking my way back up the sandy slope. 

Well, that had been ugly business. Still, the fact that he'd been alone was encouraging. It meant that either everyone else had been killed by the traps, or they'd split up to investigate multiple directions.

Then a terrible, awesome thought occurred to me; My pursuers wouldn't expect me to return to my lair. Not after they'd chased me away. Not so soon.

I grinned, and set out into the night. Time to see if I could salvage something. I took a course west, ducking past more tents and an old shower house. Up the steps to the street, and I made my way into the darkened city.