James Knapp - Element Zero

“Hey!” I called. They didn’t answer. Down the street I saw a few more. None of them moved.

Flax, this is Singh. You copy?

I copy.

Shit. I was starting to think you were dead.

What the hell happened?

Fawkes happened. He activated the carriers an hour ago. Where are you?

Still in the Pit.

That’s a hot zone. You want to get out of there right away.

No shit.

That area was hit hard. There are a lot of revivors still in there.

How many we looking at?

No numbers yet, but thousands. Can you get back to base?

The streets were blocked. Back the other way, I could barely make out the flash of blues and reds on the other side of an old, rusted bridge.

I’ll manage.

Good. You okay?

I’m fine.

“Hey, you!” I called to the guys in the street. They still didn’t move.

Wait, I told Singh. I might have some survivors.

Be careful.

I took the bike closer, in between the abandoned cars. I pulled up next to the three men.

“Hey, what are you, fucking deaf?” I asked, but by then I could see.

Shit.

The three guys had blood down the front of their shirts and pants. It was smeared around their mouths and beaded up on the ends of their fingers. Black spots bled through the whites of their eyes. They were Huma carriers, revivors, but the signal I usually picked up from them wasn’t there.

I looked down the street and saw more of them. Some leaned into cars; others were down on the ground. None of them moved.

Singh, I’ve got hostiles down here—

Cal, just get out of there.

No, listen. Something’s up. They’re not moving.

What are they doing?

Nothing. They’re just standing there. Hold on.

I scanned the closest of the three and picked up a lot of wireless traffic. It was the same for the rest.

They’re all getting some kind of major data dump, I said.

What kind of data dump?

Hold on. The eyes of the closest one were moving around, just barely. As I watched my hand twitched, and a string of garbage code rolled past one corner of my eye. I’d seen this all before.

I know what it is, I told Singh.

You want to share?

That steady screech in the back of my head was because code was coming in. The blood in my hand was picking up the change too; that’s why it was tingling again. I looked up and down the street at the frozen bodies. They were all stuck in standby; Heinlein was upgrading them.

Is Heinlein pushing something down from central? I asked.

Pushing what?

I don’t know. But the jacks used to do this in the field when a control-module update came down from the satellite.

The shutdown virus is based on the prototype, Cal. Heinlein wouldn’t go messing with that even if they could.

I’m telling you—someone’s sending something down because I’m getting it too—I can feel it.

I’ll look into it. You just get the hell out of there.

I watched them as the wind blew over them. None of them blinked while they were blasted with snow. The closest one’s eyes just kept up that slight jitter as the bloodstained shirt flapped around his bony, scabby body.

Roger that.

I took the bike past them and back to the sidewalk. There was more blood on the snow just ahead. A hand, short a little finger, poked out from under a car. There was a big bite mark in the meat of the thumb.

Nico was still offline. I hated talking to that asshole Van Offo, but he was my next-best bet. I tried his line, and he picked up.

Van Offo here.

It’s Flax.

Miss Flax. I was going to contact you.

I didn’t like the sound of that. I hated him, and he knew it. We had only one thing in common.

Where’s Nico?

He’s safe.

My fist tightened on the throttle. I wasn’t in the mood for that twerp’s bullshit runaround.

I didn’t ask if he was safe. I asked where he was.

He’s at the VA hospital—that’s what I was going to—

What happened?

Don’t worry. He’s alive.

I asked what the fuck happened to him.

I can’t give you any more details than that right now. I’m waiting to hear myself—

Where the hell were you during all this?

I was being shot. We were attacked while following a lead. He saved my life.

“Goddamn it!”

I kicked the car next to me and the taillight crunched under the heel of my boot.

I don’t care about your life, you motherfucker!

I know.

What hospital?

The streets are blocked. You won’t get there. Listen to me, Cal—

Fuck you.

I cut the connection.

Singh, I’m on my way but I need your help.

What do you need?

Work your mojo and find out what hospital Agent Nico Wachalowski is checked into. Find out his status. I want to know everything.

You got it, Cal.

I heard a voice shriek then, just over the idling engine. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone. Wind blew snow across the street, and when it died down, I heard it again.

Thanks, Singh.

Whoever it was, they were close. I cut the engine and listened. It was hard to make anything out over the wind, but it was definitely a person.

“Hello?” I called. I looked around for any movement. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

A voice called back. I couldn’t make the words out, but it came from a girl.

I turned on a thermal filter and swept the area. Up ahead, in the middle of the cold, I saw a red-orange glow from the rear of the crashed armored truck.

I closed in and parked the bike ten feet away. The truck was unmarked and painted black. The front end had smashed through the brick face and the doors hung open. The rear plate was marked with the letters MIL.

Military vehicle. I climbed off the bike and stepped closer. There was an emblem in the corner of the back window.

STILLWELL CORPS. It was one of ours.

I looked around the side and saw a revivor up front, standing frozen. It still had the driver by the wrists, blood smeared down the front of its face. The driver hung there by his arms, limp. His head lolled, blood running down over his face. His throat had been torn open, and the snow at their feet was red.

“Hello?” a voice called from the back of the truck. It was female, with some kind of accent. “Who’s there?”

I grabbed the handle to the back door and pulled, but it was locked.

“I’m not here to hurt you. Come on, open up!” I said. I thumped the door with my fist.

“Who are you?” the voice asked from inside. The accent was Russian, maybe. I looked through the bulletproof glass and caught a glimpse of what looked like a kid.

“I’m not dead. How’s that? Open the damn door.”

I heard the bolt let go, and pulled the door open. When I did, a rank smell blew out.

There was a girl back there, some street teen with a dirty face and ratty hair. She wasn’t alone.

The back of the truck was filled with bodies. They were all naked, and stacked along the sides in metal trays. The crash had thrown them so that arms and legs hung over the sides. Blue fingers and toes stuck out in the air. A couple had spilled out onto the floor, and one’s neck had been slashed on a sharp edge of the rack, and blood covered the floor. The girl knelt on the floor, her knees and hands red.