John Hawks - The Dark River

Pickering laughed without thinking, then looked frightened. “I don’t mean to offend, sir. My friend Gabriel. Don’t be angry. Your question was just…unexpected.”

“I’m not angry.”

“In the time of the warlords, people began to say that the fighting would go on until a certain number of people had survived. We argued about the number. Was it ninety-nine survivors or thirteen or three? No one knows. But we believe these survivors will find a way to leave this place and the rest of us will be reborn to suffer again.”

“So how many people are left?”

“Maybe ten percent of the original population. Some of us are cockroaches. We hide in the walls and beneath the floors-and survive. People who don’t hide are called wolves. They walk around the city with their patrols and kill everyone they see.”

“And that’s why you hide?”

“Yes!” Pickering looked confident. “With all my heart, I can assure you the cockroaches will outlast the wolves.”

“Look, I’m not part of this war and I don’t want to be on anyone’s side. I’m searching for another visitor. That’s all.”

“I understand, Gabriel.” Pickering picked up a cracked bathroom sink and placed it in one corner of the room. “Please accept my hospitality. Stay here while I search for your visitor. Do not risk yourself, my friend. If a patrol finds you, the wolves will kill you in the street.”

Before Gabriel could react, Pickering had pushed the burned mattress to one side, slipped through the gap, and then replaced the barrier. Gabriel remained in the easy chair thinking about everything he had seen since he stood up beside the river. The violent souls in this realm would be trapped here forever in an endless cycle of rage and destruction. But there was nothing unusual about hell. His own world had already been given glimpses of its fury.

The gas flare burning from the slender copper pipe seemed to use all the oxygen in the room. Gabriel was sweating and his mouth was dry. He knew that he shouldn’t eat food in this place, but he would need to find a source of water.

Gabriel stood up, pushed the mattress away, and left Pickering’s hiding place. As he began to explore the building, he realized that it had once been divided up into offices. Desks and chairs, file cabinets and old-fashioned typewriters had been abandoned, and now everything was covered with a fine white dust. Who had worked here? Had they left their apartments that first morning and gone to their jobs with a vague feeling that all this was just an extension of their dreams?

Still searching for water, he found a shattered window and looked down at the street. Two soot-covered automobiles were smashed together, their hoods crumpled up like crushed boxes. Pickering came around the corner, and Gabriel stepped back into the shadows. The thin man stopped and looked over his shoulder as if he were waiting for someone.

A few seconds later, five men appeared. If Pickering called himself a cockroach, then these men were obviously the wolves. They wore an odd assortment of clothes gathered from different sources. A blond man with braided hair wore bush shorts and a black tuxedo jacket with satin lapels. He walked beside a black man wearing a white lab coat. The wolves were armed with homemade weapons-clubs, swords, axes, and knives.

Gabriel left the room immediately, took a wrong turn, and ended up in another suite of deserted offices. By the time he reached the marble staircase, he could hear Pickering’s breathless voice coming from the ground floor.

“This way, everyone. This way.”

Gabriel continued up the staircase to the third floor. Looking down the stairwell, he saw a flash of orange fire. One of the wolves had just lit a torch crudely made from a table leg wrapped with tar-covered rags.

“I didn’t lie to you,” Pickering said. “He was here. Look, he’s gone upstairs. Can’t you see?”

Gabriel realized that he had left footprints in the fine white dust that covered the staircase. The hallway behind him was also covered with dust. No matter where he stepped, the wolves would be able to track him down.

Can’t stay here , he thought, and continued up the staircase. The stairs ended on the fifth floor. He passed through a steel fire door hanging from one hinge and found himself on the roof. The yellowish-gray clouds that covered the sky had turned dark and billowy, as if a malignant rain were about to fall. Gazing over the skyline, he could see the shattered bridge and the black line of the river.

Gabriel walked to the low safety wall that ran around the edge of the roof. There was a fifteen-foot gap between where he was standing and the adjacent building. If the jump failed, he would never return to his own world. Would Maya ever see his dead body? Would she press her ear to his chest and realize that his heart had finally stopped beating? He circled the roof once, twice, and returned to his original position. Because of the safety wall, he couldn’t run and throw himself forward.

The steel fire door was ripped away and tossed down the stairwell. Pickering and the patrol stepped onto the roof. “See? I told you so!” Pickering said.

Gabriel stepped onto the top of the concrete wall and looked over at the next building. It’s too far , he thought. Much too far .

The wolves raised their weapons and started toward him.

Two of the Tabula mercenaries hiked up the slope to the helicopters and returned with a portable electric generator. The generator was placed near the storage hut and attached to a sodium light. Michael glanced upward. The thousands of stars visible in the night sky resembled little chips of ice. It was very cold now, and the moisture from everyone’s lungs left a faint haze in the air.

Michael was disappointed that neither Gabriel nor his father was on the island, but the operation wasn’t a complete failure. Perhaps the team would find documents or information on a computer that would lead them to a more promising target. Word would get back to Mrs. Brewster that he had brought in the splicers and demanded an aggressive approach to searching the huts. The Brethren liked people who took charge.

He sat down on a slab of limestone and watched Boone give orders to his men. When the backscatter device told them that the person inside the hut was neutralized, a man with an ax attacked the heavy oak door. Boone told the mercenary to stop working when he had chopped a jagged hole about two feet square. A moment later, one of the baboons peered out of the hole like a curious dog. Boone shot the animal in the head.

The two remaining splicers inside the hut began calling to each other. They were clever enough to sense danger and stay away from the hole. The man with the ax resumed his work. Fifteen minutes later he had completely destroyed the door. Boone’s men moved cautiously, pushing away storage containers and raising their shotguns before edging inside. Michael heard more shrieks and then gunshots.

One of Boone’s men had started a fire in the cooking hut and served mugs of tea to the others. Michael used the cup to warm his cold hands while he waited for more information. Ten minutes later, Boone walked out through the wrecked door. Boone was smiling and moving his body in a confident way, as if he had somehow regained his power. He accepted a cup of tea and strolled over to Michael.

“Is the Harlequin dead?” Michael asked.

“Maya wasn’t in the building. It was a young woman from Los Angeles named Victory From Sin Fraser.” Boone chuckled. “That name always amused me.”

“And she was the only person in the building?”

“Oh, someone else was there. Down in the cellar.” Boone hesitated for a few seconds, enjoying the tension in Michael’s face. “We just found your father. That is…your father’s body.”