Initus (Walking Shadows Book 5) Page 8

  “Please, Jez,” I pray. “Please–”

  My mind is wiped blank as I’m suddenly thrown by the force of an explosion at my back.

  At first, I feel nothing.

  Then I feel grief.

  And finally, as I pick myself up and stare down at the recording device smashed beyond repair on the ground, I am consumed with hatred.

  Part Two

  When Lightning Strikes Lemons

  Eleven

  27 YEARS LATER

  A loud clang against the metal bars by my head makes my ears cringe but I ignore it just as I ignored the approach of their booted feet and instead continue to hold my position, sweat soaking through my clothes.

  “Come on, Gan,” he groans. “Give it up. You’ve got a visitor.”

  If my brow weren’t already crunched with exertion it would from surprise. A visitor? In all of my time here I’ve had only one visitor and the memory of the cold madness in her eyes has my body collapsing to the floor. I’d managed to hold that plank for maybe half an hour though my counting tends to speed up with my exhaustion. Rolling swiftly onto my feet I eye the guard warily. Adi was alright, but I never trusted that to never change. He was too young to have been there when the Union finally fell or when the population took a nosedive, too young to feel what was lost, but the others weren’t and they took any chance they could to remind me of it.

  “What did you say?” I ask sharply.

  Adi sighs. “Visitor. Come on.” Reaching over he presses his palm against the scanner beside my cell door while keeping his other hand wrapped firmly around the baton he’d used to grate against the bars.

  From hard learned habit I keep my weight shifted to the balls of my feet ready to move. I’m not that big, I’m not that strong, but hell I can move fast. We both tense as the door gives a loud clunk and it starts to swing open. In the newer cell block they have bulletproof glass doors that slide open and shut, automatic lights too. They keep me in the old wing where the floor is stone, the door is steel, and the only light I get comes from the barred window that’s too high for me to gaze out of.

  I’ve watched the changes, the subtle shifts as the Union gave up hope and people died, starved, struggled until it reformed as the Alliance and alterations began to infiltrate little by little like hand scanners, auto-everything, A.I. installations that monitor moods and internal temperatures in an attempt to prevent fights, food processors that retch balanced meals catered towards an individual after it pricks your finger to analyze your blood quicker than a heartbeat. Even Androids have begun joining the ranks of guards and over the years it’s become harder and harder to tell which are the lie detecting robots and which are the quick-tempered humans.

  Despite taking careful notice of all of these changes, I have no image, no concept of the world beyond these walls. Even the yard is constructed in the center of the building, a massive square hole with no ceiling and no view of the world beyond.

  Doesn’t matter. I roll back my shoulders and follow Adi into the hallway trying to keep a clear mind but I can’t escape that one word, visitor, and the memories that surge up with it. Who could it be?

  I take a chance and ask. “Who is it?”

  Adi shrugs. “Wait and see, I guess.” He gives me a curious glance from the corner of his eye. “You really don’t know? Not family or something?”

  “My family is dead, Adi,” I reply tonelessly. “You know that.” And he does. I’m a prisoner with a file and I knew the precise moment he’d read it because one day he acted almost like we could be something akin to friends and the next he struggled to hold my gaze. We’ve come to a somewhat comfortable understanding in the year since: I’m a monster that won’t bite if you don’t touch and Adi never touches.

  We walk in silence for a moment, nothing but the echo of our steps and the general noise of other prisoners so familiar I hardly notice it at all. I know if I looked, I’d see my murder in their eyes. If I listened, I’d hear slurs and dark promises on their tongues. So I don’t look and I don’t listen. Simple. At least now that I’ve had over two decades of practice.

  “The Eurasian conference el–”

  “Adi,” I cut him off sharply. He likes conversation, but I can’t allow that sort of conversating to take place. Especially not when surrounded by a den of humans more than willing to widen their hatred to include anyone who shows me mercy.

  His eyes glance briefly over my shoulder and I mentally shudder when they return to me. Making an intentional show of a slow rake of my body with his eyes and finding me wanting he spits at my feet then shoves my shoulder roughly to resume our walk. I keep my mask in place and let no hint of my relief slip past. That’s right, Adi. Don’t let them see your kindness.

  I can tell Adi’s thinking hard about something and I leave him to it. I used to be curious about everything, there wasn’t a riddle I wouldn’t at least try to solve or a mystery I could resist looking into. That curiosity died a long time ago. It got people killed.

  “You haven’t had a visitor in a long while,” he says at last. “Only one ever, in fact. I checked.”

  “I’m not that old,” I answer. “I still have my memory, like it or not.”

  “Why does no one visit you?” he asks boldly. “Even Thresh has visitors.”

  I snort. Thresh is an uncouth beast with three murders to pay for. Everyone loathes him, even those allied to him simply because he wouldn’t know how to be nice even if it could set him free. Which it could. “Thresh killed a few randoms,” I explain. “I brought down an entire nation, murdered millions, and nailed the coffin lid on an era. Who would want to visit me?”

  Adi halts, pivoting to face me, and I’m surprised by the determination radiating from his eyes and set of his jaw. “You’re telling me to believe the news?” he challenges, like he knows something and wants me to admit it.

  “Don’t you?” I retort. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what you or anyone else believes. I step one foot out there and I’m a corpse. Here I can just be Gan and take the time to pray a little longer.”

  He shakes his head in genuine disgust. “You’ve accumulated a lot of time in the medical wing.”

  “Thank you for reminding me,” I nod. It isn’t easy being trapped in a box full of anger with a target on your back. I ruined everything, destroyed families, took hope from guards and prisoners alike. I’m not particularly popular though it was impressive how long it took for them to realize that punishing me wouldn’t bring it all back. I will never see my family again and I can only hope that they’re still alive. I will never see Jez again and I can only hope that Heaven isn’t a lie.

  Guilt and grief were more than enough punishment, but when they’d hit me, kick me, insult me, stab me…I couldn’t help but welcome it as if the physical pain could help release some of the emotional anguish trapped inside of my heart. I deserved it, but eventually they got bored and it stopped. Mostly. There are always new prisoners who haven’t had a turn yet. The medics have tech now that can erase scars. I don’t let them. I will never let them. Even so, the healing salves have skin smoothing and anti-aging components and I don’t look as worse for wear as I should. It bothers me.

  “My visitor?” I prompt.

  He releases a frustrated huff, ignoring my question. “I don’t know what to believe,” he admits quietly. “But I do know that I choose to believe that the person you are now is good.” With that he resumes the trek to the visitor hall and I follow.

  Adi keeps quiet, stewing over his internal conflicts, poor boy, and I regret letting the silence fall because now all I can think about is this mysterious visitor. I know it isn’t family, I don’t even bother considering the idea. I don’t know what happened to Fitz though considering the fact that this land is now called the Rochester Alliance, a stupid, pretentious name that doesn’t begin to sound right in my head, I assume his father is doing just fine. Or was. Or is? Normally he’d surely be dead or dying by now, but I’ve heard rumors of life extension drugs. Ther
e’s some debate on whether or not to use them on prisoners to force them to truly live out consecutive life sentences. I hope it doesn’t pass. I’d be forced to live until the sun itself gives up on our planet, forced to stand at the very end as “Kingdom come” turns from story to fate. Living one life is too long. Given the option, I’d take the execution pill without hesitation over living forever in a cell.

  I force myself away from dangerous thoughts and return to the present. Unfortunately, the present involves a visitor and my mind churns once more in absolute refusal to let me rest. A visitor not so many years ago…I don’t think, though I can’t be sure. A woman with hair not an inch long pushing through her scalp and an aura that made my spine straighten knowing full well I was in the presence of a predator.

  She’d stared at me long and hard, taking in my measure. I had no idea who she was or why she’d come, but I held my tongue and let her look her fill. Whatever she found made her smile and I remember flinching away. She’d asked, no interrogated me about my sentence, my life prior, my life since and I found that I wanted to tell her. No one asked me, no one talked to me, and even though I felt as if she were scraping my soul empty for each vein of information I’d share, I talked.

  I didn’t tell her everything. She didn’t ask everything either. She certainly refused to tell me anything about herself or the outside world. When she’d stood to leave a desperation had wrenched me into standing as well, my hand pressed tightly against the glass that separated us as if I could reach out and grab her, force her to stay.

  “Tell me something,” I begged. Tears formed in my eyes and I let them fall, uncaring what this woman thought. “Tell me who you are, why you’re here, what’s happening out there? Please, tell me something.”

  I wasn’t sure she would, but she gave a sharp nod. Something about her manner felt as if she viewed me as a comrade while at first I’d been an enemy. It was then that I knew she believed me and I felt it in my soul. No matter what I’d told Adi about belief not mattering, it mattered to me. It always matters to me.

  “I am Ares,” she acquiesced. “I have business in the east and my curiosity got the better of me. I came to find out if you deserve blame for what I am, but I’ve decided to keep my plans for comeuppance local in the west. It will be up to you to do the same in the east. If you want it.”

  “A lot I can do in here,” I huffed sarcastically. “Don’t worry, this is home now.”

  Ares gave me a knowing look, a look that often haunts my dreams and still moments. “I cannot free you.”

  I couldn’t help the snort that escaped me. “I wasn’t asking for a prison break. Even if it were possible, which it’s not, it isn’t worth it.”

  “No,” she barked sharply snapping me out of my self-contempt. Grinding her fist into her chest over her heart, she repeated, “I cannot free you.”

  I’d stared at her, no sound but the blinking of my eyes. Ares did not refer to concrete, bars, or legislation. Those things were secondary to the prison I’d built in my head and heart. A prison that strengthened me while also draining me of everything worth holding out for. I’d achieved acceptance of my reality, a lifetime in this prison, but I’d also accepted falsehoods of guilt and shame and hatred that would keep me here even if by some miracle the bars of my cell disappeared.

  Holding her gaze I asked again, “Please, tell me something.” She already had and yet I needed more.

  Leaning in close, so close her breath lightly fogged the glass, she sang and though I heard it only once it stuck in my head.

  “U.S.A. is falling down, falling down, falling down

  State by State it’s falling down, help green lady

  First the west and then the south, wave goodbye, wave goodbye

  West want same and south want sane, help green lady

  Last the east gave up the name, start anew, start anew

  U.S.A. is nevermore, bye green lady”

  One might think hearing a twisted children’s rhyme would sound silly, but from Ares it felt prophetic even if what she sang of described the past. There was something about her not sane, not present while she sang. Her eyes changed, the light in them, something. I had no idea how to respond.

  “How do I free myself?” I beseeched instead.

  “You shed yourself for something greater.” Ares pressed her forehead against the glass then nodded. As if our entire exchange had been nothing more significant than checking out a book from the library, she turned and left.

  I still stood there dumbfounded, wrapped up in a net of emotions and churning thoughts, so much so that I didn’t hear the guard calling to me and didn’t protest when she’d grabbed my arm and ruthlessly yanked me out of the room and back to my cell. I’d collapsed inside, jumping when the door slammed shut, and assumed plank-position in an attempt to ruminate on all that had transpired while exhausting my body enough to force my mind to slumber by lights out.

  As I threw myself down on my bed a metallic ting rang out and I reached down to pick up the slim metal case filled with pilfered sleeping pills I’d stored up inside like bullets in a cartridge. It must have been knocked from its hiding place inside of my mattress. Grasping it tightly in my fist I laughed. I’d somehow, impossibly forgotten. Tonight was supposed to be my last, but now such a choice felt beyond my grasp, beyond sense, beyond the demands of my soul.

  When I worked at ZoiTech, a fancy lawyer had stridden in with confidence and shook my career and convictions to dust, forcing me to recalculate my assumptions and shaming me for my blind trust. When I’d faced trial, I’d wished that that lawyer could’ve defended me. He might have won my case, but the border between my home and his was locked down and he’d been swallowed up by the chaos.

  I was sentenced to prison and I’d finally found a rhythm to my new reality that broke me bone by bone, hope by hope, snuffing out the light breath by breath only for a strange woman with pain in her eyes and creepy rhymes on her tongue to come shove my face against my own temple of guilt where I’d worshipped daily. I bet she could have broken me out of prison if she’d wanted to. At least the prison with walls.

  Now I follow Adi to meet this visitor and I wonder what change they will bring. What could possibly be left? Or has my end finally arrived?

  Twelve

  Adi escorts me into a small room, nodding towards the chair on our side of a glass partition while he takes his post against the back wall and tries his best to not look like he’s eavesdropping. Dark skin, dark eyes, and an assessing stare greet me. I take a moment to stare right back at him before he drops his gaze and I slide into the empty seat, resting my arms atop the table. Not even a hint of recognition flickers within me.

  The man folds his hands and straightens his sleeves, fidgeting while I give nothing else but my attention, as if he’s afraid to look into the Devil’s eyes. I notice his muscles suddenly tense in resolution and his gaze slowly lifts back up to meet mine and whatever he sees there has him…perturbed. It’s always nice to defy unflattering expectations, I suppose.

  “Who are you?” I ask, not interested in games and wasting time.

  His eyebrows lift slightly though he can’t really be surprised. “You don’t know?” Or perhaps he can.

  “No offense but no, I don’t.” I don’t slouch and I don’t smile, something tells me not to.

  His mouth quirks up in a small flash of amusement. “I’m not offended, just surprised,” he replies honestly. “The news has shown my face far more often than I’d like.”

  “I don’t get T.V.”

  He frowns. “Digital news?”

  “Not that either.”

  The man sits back at that, puzzlement evident on his face. “I thought prisoners had access to resources like the news.”

  “They do,” I affirm.

  “But not you?”

  “Not me.”

  Silence hangs between us before he regathers the reins and pushes on. “I’m sorry, I still haven’t introduced myself. My name is Dr. Vanguar
d Mehen and I work for Python.”

  I blink, his words meaning very little to me. My reaction, or rather lack thereof, has his brow furrowing again.

  “Surely you’ve at least heard of Python?” he suggests.

  “Nope.”

  “I thought with all of this time on your hands, you’d have an ear on the gossip,” he half-laughs.

  “Nope.” My short, unhelpful responses begin to grate on him and with a huff I offer to elaborate. “No T.V., no eMags, no alliances, no gossip, no news. Aliens could have landed and I’d probably have no idea.” With a quick glance to the side I add, “Adi used to share things but I made him stop.”

  “Why?” he asks incredulous.

  “Because the others gave him a hard time,” I shrug. “I don’t need news of a world I’ll never set foot in again anyway.”

  Bewilderment still twists his posture. “But why?” he asks again. “Why can’t you have any news or privileges? All prisoners have the right to access such things.”

  I lean forward, a hard look in my eyes. “Because, Van, I’m the First Horseman and not knowing is a torture in itself. Loathing me might be the only thing unifying both prisoner and guard.”

  Van holds my gaze for a long moment before shaking himself free. “You’re not.”

  A smile curls my lips. “They say I am.”

  “And what do you say?” he challenges back. “Who is Morgan Travers?”

  The question hits me funny, almost like a punch in my gut. I’m many things. I was, I am, I will be for as long as I can hold out, but more specific than that I don’t know. Instead, I choose silence and somehow it feels fitting. I am no one.