G Taylor - The Forsaken

The building’s design had its roots in a happier, sunnier world and looked ridiculously optimistic where its upper reaches poked through the Carapace and loomed against the permanent gray cloud cover. The hotel was two blocks west of the ocean, climbing some forty stories. He booked a room on its thirtieth floor-just high enough that his balcony hung over the black shape of the Carapace where it sloped toward the ocean from the City’s Level Six. The protective materials undulated below as it careened downward in a terrifying ellipse to the distant beaches. Its eaves and ductwork channeled runoff to massive hydroelectric plants dotting the shore. He could see the lights of cars on the Skyway interchanges flickering through its semi-transparent surfaces.

He had left instructions at the desk that he not be disturbed then rode the elevator skyward. After a hot shower and a shave-he dropped to the carpet to augment the day’s exertions with a near endless series of pushups. He was as sharp and lethal as a bayonet. The assassin snatched his cigarettes and lighter then walked out onto the balcony. A mist of rain sent a chill over his flesh.

Lights as red as hellfire glared in the neighboring buildings, and below him sirens howled like the damned. Felon’s lips twisted with spite as he lit a cigarette. How he hated these regular experiments in sameness-these boring constructs of humanity. Law made the streets straight but did not make them safe. Instead, they created dark corners full of the unknown. He hated it. The set of his full lips said as much where they tangled beneath high cheekbones round and hard as beef-joints. His eyes were black with flecks of silver-reflections of the blurred cityscape around him. Jet-black hair fell to his shoulders from a high brow and curled at the corded nape of his neck.

The city skyline stretched endlessly to north and south but was lost to his vision in light pollution and the upper Level Seven still under construction. The actual size of the monstrous metropolis was hidden behind massive sheets of concrete and steel. Through a tangled maze of supports and other load bearing structures he could see to the south, jagged spires covered with constellations of dim, winking lights. To the east, buried in the hoary grayness of the rough sea he knew an old and sunken city foundered, its walls shooting hundreds of feet above the waves. At night it was invisible like the past-the monoliths obscured by dark and cloud. But Felon knew they marched like ancient mysteries into the distance. It was a dead place of the long ago. He had not been there in years.

Some grim humor flickered behind his features, and drew his lips back in an apocalyptic snarl. At least he had a purpose. Unlike the teeming maggots in the skyscraper holes around him, he had a reason for being. And this purpose had brought him here. The City of Light was a festering sore, a gray running boil on the backside of human history. But Felon had found cause for mirth.

Dawn was in her cubbyhole. Mr. Jay had picked an abandoned apartment building on Zero for their hideout. Most of the ancient structure had been filled with concrete and stone to form a pillar for the City’s upper levels but a few of its rooms were still accessible. Her cubbyhole was inside an old chimney. For her protection Mr. Jay had fashioned a door for it that she could lock from the inside. She remembered him gleefully showing her how the peephole worked-he was handy with tools. There was a little mattress, snacks and bottled water in it in case she had to stay there a while. When Mr. Jay was away, she was just supposed to stay inside the building, and never stray from their hideout-if she ever heard someone coming she was to return to her cubbyhole. She had been so terrified by the trouble in the alley that she ran all the way back to the old building and hid herself-lying there covered up in her quilt-all her muscles quivering.

As the footsteps approached, she knew from their sound that it was Mr. Jay. She had listened so many times for him that she recognized his step as easily as his voice. This time though, she did not run out to greet him. Her heart still ached with guilt and fear.

“Dawn?” Mr. Jay’s voice was warm in the darkness. The hideout was just a big brick room about twelve feet on a side where they kept a little table, some cards and their possessions. The sound of Mr. Jay’s movements drew near, urgent now. Tears started to leak from her eyes.

The secret door jiggled, but did not open. She had locked it. “Dawn.” Relief filled Mr. Jay’s voice. “So you’re here.” She heard him slide down the wall and settle to the right of the door. “Would you come out please?”

She pushed the quilt aside-her clothes still damp from running through the rain-and unlatched the door. She slid it open a crack, and saw Mr. Jay in the orange flame of a candle he was lighting. His eyes turned. He grinned weakly then blew out the match and set the candle on the floor. “Come out. Please.”

Dawn pushed the door open a little further, and then opened it wide. Her chin drooped as she stepped out of the darkness and crouched on the sill of her cubbyhole. Mr. Jay regarded her in the half-light. The creases around his eyes and over his forehead were wrinkled with concern. His bearded lips were pursed in a frown. A purple lump distorted his left eyebrow.

“Are you all right?” His voice was even and calm, just as it had been in the alley.

Dawn could not control her lips when she was sad. The lower one curled out and down. Her cheeks were damp from tears. She nodded.

Mr. Jay smiled a weary smile. “Good.”

Her lips were quivering again; Dawn fought the urge to cry but was having difficulty.

Mr. Jay smiled again, and then waved with his long slim hand. “Please come out, Dawn.”

She slid herself out of the darkness an inch or two more, saw Mr. Jay frown, and then inched out until she was bathed in the candlelight. Mr. Jay’s dark green eyes flitted over her body-concern melting to relief.

“They didn’t hurt you?” His voice was relaxing.

Dawn shook her head.

“That’s good.” He nodded and put a hand on her shoulder. “Your shirt’s soaked!” He reached past her and pulled her quilt out and wrapped it over her shoulders. “Dawn…” His voice was tired. He shook his head.

Dawn clenched her jaws, her voice exploding past pursed lips. “I’m sorry!” She looked at the welt over his eye. “Did they hurt you?” Her lip trembled again.

“No,” Mr. Jay whispered, his white teeth flashing through his short whiskers.

“I’m sorry I…” she said quickly-too quickly for tears to escape.

“Dawn, we talked about this.” He shook his head. “It’s very dangerous for you…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jay!” Tears burst past her eyelashes and poured down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just thought I could go out and get something for us. Like the pocketknife, and the other things I found before. I didn’t think…” She was shaken by sobs.

“Dawn,” he sighed, setting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s too dangerous…”

“Oh please, Mr. Jay. Don’t be angry. Please, don’t be angry. I’ll be good.” Dawn was terrified. She saw the dismay in his features-the thick emotion that made him stern. “Please, I’ll never do it again. I just know I’m more than a little girl! That’s all. I am and sometimes I think I can do things I shouldn’t. But I’m sorry.”

“Dawn.” He rubbed her shoulder.

“Please, Mr. Jay. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to go away. I’m sorry! I just wanted to help!” His hand squeezed her shoulder. Through a blur of tears she watched his eyes grow moist.

“Oh, Dawn.” He pulled her over, wrapped her quilt tight around her-held her to his chest. “Don’t do that to me again.” Mr. Jay’s voice broke with emotion. “I came back here, and you were gone.” He hugged her tighter. “I thought you were gone.”