James Knapp - State of Decay

A red warning light flashed at the apex of my line of sight. I snapped open my eyes.

Wachalowski.

I’m here. What is it?

Security camera twenty-three. We have a vehicle approaching with a driver who says he’s looking for you. He looks like he’s being pursued.

On my way.

I sprinted to the stairwell and down to the ground floor, heading for the lobby. On the security feed, I could see the car as it tore around the corner, tires smoking. It fishtailed and then began picking up momentum, heading right for the front doors. Was he planning on ramming the place?

We got a partial message from him before he cut out, the guard says. He says he’s got information, and he needs protection.

Weaving through the suits in the main corridor, I picked up speed, moving toward the guard station.

Who is he?

Checking …

“Out of the way!” I shouted, drawing my gun as I hurried toward the entryway. I was about a hundred yards down the hall when through the glass doors I saw people on the sidewalk scatter as the car screeched to a halt, bucking up over the curb.

“Out of the way!”

He identified himself as Edward Cross. We’re still referencing.

Cross. MacReady had dropped that name back at Heinlein.

Outside, the car door opened and a middle-aged man lurched out, his face red and his eyes wild. He tripped on the curb and went facedown on the sidewalk just as the rear window of the car exploded and a loud report boomed down the street.

We have gunfire.

People on the street outside began fleeing from the car as two more shots went off and one of the tires blew out. The man picked himself up off the ground and looked around.

Stay down….

On the security feed, I looked but I couldn’t see which vehicle, if any, had been following him.

“Stay down!” I shouted, waving the man down as I approached the doors, but he had already committed to making a run for it. He got as far as the steps when he was struck in the side and went down on the concrete.

Two armored guards appeared and barreled through the door just ahead of me, each carrying an assault rifle. They immediately took aim down the street, but didn’t fire, as if they were trying to get a bead on the shooter.

Another shot went off and struck the man in the shoulder blade as he lay on the steps. The two guards began firing controlled bursts.

Suppressing fire. They still don’t see the shooter.

I pushed through the doors and grabbed the wounded man, dragging him back by his suit jacket. Another bullet slammed off the bulletproof glass as I got him through the doors.

We need a medic down here now.

“Help him …” the man muttered. He was alive anyway.

“Take it easy, sir,” I told him. “Help is coming, understand?”

“Help him….”

The guards outside were scanning the street again, but the gunfire had stopped. I abandoned the man for a moment, pushing the glass door open and using it as a shield so I could see out onto the street with my own eyes.

“You see anything?” one guard asked the other.

“Negative.”

The street was clogged with cars that had either been abandoned or had passengers cowering inside. Several windshields were pocked with gunshots, and the blacktop was littered with glass. Smoke drifted from beneath the hood of one of the vehicles.

“Hold your fire,” I said, looking down the street.

Where had the shooter come from? He might have been pursuing in any one of the abandoned cars, but those shots had come from street level.

Several car doors still hung open. I could hear some people sobbing faintly, and far-off traffic, but that was all. Where had he …?

There. The smoke from one of the cars parted suddenly as it drifted across the street. It was subtle, but I saw it. For just a second, there was the outline of an arm and a leg in the smoke; then it flickered and moved away.

He was there. He was right there. Whoever it was really did have an LW suit. I hadn’t seen one of those since my tour.

“Is he out there?” one of the guards asked. I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to spook the shooter.

Switching filters, I managed to at least get a fix on him. It was definitely a male, carrying a rifle of some kind. I couldn’t make out any features, just an enhanced silhouette, but I could see him. He stood in the middle of the street, between two cars, looking toward the steps, which were still covered in the man’s blood. The shooter lingered, like he was debating whether or not to press the attack.

He opted not to. He took two steps back, then turned.

I moved out from behind the door, took aim, and fired three times. I hit him twice for sure, but it didn’t stop him. He crouched down and darted down a side street.

“Sir?” one of the guards said.

“Let him go.”

We could get a team together with the right hardware to track him, but not before he was long gone. For now I had gotten at least a recording of him, proof that he existed. Faye wasn’t seeing things; someone or something had been under an LW field at the truck fire as well.

Stepping over the slick of blood on the stairs, I followed the trail back inside. The medics had arrived and were treating the man, but he was hemorrhaging badly. I knelt over him, and his although he looked very weak, his eyes found mine immediately and fixed on me. He spoke, struggling to get the words out.

“His name is Luis Valle….”

“Luis Valle.”

“Luis …they’re looking for him. Help him …” he whispered, groping with one hand.

“I will,” I said. “They told me you asked for me by name. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Why me?”

“You were there….”

His face tightened and his eyes went wide; then everything relaxed. His eyes began to swim out of focus.

“Where?” I asked.

“Heinlein …Samuel never left….”

“You left that message for me?”

He nodded.

“Samuel Fawkes?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He could barely speak. “He found me out…. I had to run….”

“Samuel Fawkes is dead. Isn’t he?”

“I suspected …he was in the system. Luis found something …for me. He’s in danger….”

“What does that mean? What did he find?”

His eyes met mine one last time, tears brimming.

“Help Luis….”

He flatlined. The medic closest to me gave me a look.

“That’s it.”

I stood up. The knees of my pants were wet with blood. I called back to security.

What did he say when he contacted you?

Just that he was coming in fast, and he needed to see you. His records show he had a doctorate in applied cybernetics. Full citizen with a high security clearance.

No doubt. Bob MacReady, the representative from Heinlein who met with me, had mentioned his name, in passing anyway. He had worked at one time for Samuel Fawkes, up until the time of Samuel’s death. The two had worked on Zhang’s Syndrome.

He worked at Heinlein Industries , I said.

He was a key player there. How did you know?

MacReady dropped his name. What about the name Luis Valle? Any relation?

Hang on.

Heinlein Industries, and the name Zhang in particular, had a way of cropping up during the course of all this.

I’ve got a Luis Valle, age twenty, son of Tara Valle, maiden name Tara Cross. It’s his nephew. Looks like he’s got a record; all computer crimes.

One of the names on the list we recovered from the dock revivor was Rebecca Valle.

Hang on.

Rebecca Valle’s name was right after that of Mae Zhu, who had been murdered in her car the night before. None of the others on the list were reachable, and none had responded to repeated messages. That last name could not be a coincidence.