Into the Fire (16 page)

I was out “skulking around,” as the others called it, talking to people, asking if they'd seen her, when I spotted someone who looked just like her entering a looted department store. I mean, yeah, it was smoky and this woman was on the far side of the street, but the way she was dressed, the way she moved—I could've sworn it was Lena.

I rushed over, entering through the same smashed window she had, trying to pick her out from the scavengers, but she'd disappeared.

I scoured the entire floor and still hadn't found her, so I made my way over to the escalator. I went up level by level, searching all around, but still there was no sign. When I reached the top, my frustration got the better of me and I went and hung over the rail.

“Lena!
Lena!
” I cried, my voice sounding all empty and strained, but still there was nothing. I turned and started to make my way back down, this time searching each floor more thoroughly, even
checking the restrooms—I mean, in my heart I guess I knew it wasn't her, but I still had to be
sure
.

I was descending to the third floor when I came across this commotion: a couple of Infinity Specials were struggling with the woman I'd been looking for, and you know, with her back to me, it still could've been Lena. I gave this cry of outrage, but when the three of them stopped and turned, when I got a better look, I could see how wrong I'd been, that actually, she was older and shorter; in fact, there was barely any likeness to Lena at all.

She was trying to keep hold of this dusty overcoat she must've picked up while the two Specials were attempting to snatch it away from her. They were a pair of big muscle-heads, dressed in laser-reflective gear, black gloves, helmets and dark glasses, and I guess they reckoned fear alone should've been enough to subdue her.

It was a strange kinda coincidence that the person I'd mistaken for Lena was being mistreated by the very organization I suspected of kidnapping her—too much so for a man in my state. Suddenly I wanted to defend that woman as much as anyone in my life, and I leapt down the last few steps of the escalator, shouting at them like a maniac. The woman gave out with this awful animal-like yelping; in fact, I reckon she might've been a little crazy herself.

The few people around immediately scattered, not wanting to get involved in anything that involved violence and Specials, but it was me who was completely out of control.

“What d'ya want, old fuck?” one of the Infinity men snarled.

Okay, so I know I'd become touchy about my age, but that's never been a good conversation opener with me.

“Leave her alone,” I told them.

He looked around as if checking to see if anyone was watching. “Look, we got enough nut-jobs to deal with. Just get the fuck out of here, will you?” He turned back to the woman and angrily wrenched the coat out of her hands as if determined to get this over with.

She wailed all the louder and I shouted again, “Leave her alone!”

The same guy turned back to me and sighed, like he didn't want to do this but I'd given him no choice. “Some of you old fucks just don't want to go on living, do you?”

He was quick—too quick for a man of my age—but luckily for me, he wasn't that accurate. He hit me with his clenched fist and though it was only a glancing blow, an awful tingling resonated through me. He was wearing shock gloves.

But you know, no matter how young and fit they were, or well-equipped, it wasn't a fair contest 'cuz they didn't have one ounce of my rage or frustration. I just leapt at them, in such a fury, growling like a bear, throwing punches left and right, immediately knocking one down and then kicking him for good measure. I turned to the other as he was going for his laser, making a grab for it myself 'til the two of us, wrenching it back and forth, somehow managed to break it. I took a swing at him, but hadn't noticed the guy on the floor getting back up. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, twitching and shaking, feeling that electricity zipping through me. He hit me again, on the left side this time, just on the bottom rib. I can't tell you how painful those damn things are, each new blow, each new electric shock, slicing you into a trillion pieces.

The only drawback with shock gloves is that they have to be recharged. It only takes a moment or two, but for that brief period, whoever's using them's disarmed. He pulled away from me, I guess thinking his partner would have me covered with his laser, and I'd just about got to my feet as his gloves gave off that shrill “charged” sound and I caught him on the cheek as he went to turn, knocking him to the floor.

From then on there was no stopping me. I was like an old familiar beast bursting free of his chains; any hope I had of doing the sensible thing was gone. All the loathing I had for this organization finally had an outlet. I jumped on the guy and jerked his head back, wrenched off one of his gloves and stuffed it into his mouth. Then I put on the other glove so I was insulated and rammed his jaws shut, triggering the electric charge. He screamed and went all limp, and when he started to come around, I did it
again, and again, each time his screams getting weaker. I maintained my grip 'til I was certain he was dead, then turned to deal with the other guy. He was up on his feet, but backing away, making for the escalator.

I'm not sure I would've caught him, but as luck would have it, he was in such a state of panic that he cannoned into the woman as she was also making for the escalator, the coat bundled up in her arms. I grabbed him and as the woman took the opportunity to scamper away, I dragged him to a nearby office. I didn't want anyone else to overhear what I was about to say.

I'd calmed down a bit by the time I threw him into a chair, maybe 'cuz I finally had a chance to ask someone the question I'd been asking myself every moment since I fell outa that dumpster

“Where's Lena?” I said, the words almost tripping over each other.

“Who?” he asked.

“Lena!” I shouted.

“Who the hell's Lena?”

“You got her prisoner. Thirty-something, long brown hair, hazel eyes.”

He shook his head and I hit him, hard, on the side of the face, once and then again. “Tell me!”

“I don't know what you're talking about!” he cried, blood starting to trickle from his lip. “I'm just an ordinary Special—from the barracks behind the main building. We don't get involved in that sort of stuff.”

“Where would they keep her?”

“
I don't know
!” he said exaggeratedly, like I must be hard of hearing or something.

“Jesus,” I growled, and grabbing him by the collar I jerked him up out of his seat, gave him a real blast of the look, face to face, then threw him back down again.

For a moment I just stood there, slowly becoming aware that my loss of control had meant me making a mistake, playing it wrong—or leastways, taking a gamble that hadn't paid off.

Eventually he met my gaze, regaining confidence, maybe taking my preoccupation as a sign that I'd lost my nerve. “I'd start running if I were you, old man,” he said. “Killing an Infinity Special? The way they'll torture you, you'll beg them to end your life.”

I sighed. He was right. The only thing was, he hadn't thought it through properly either—'course he was right, I shouldn't've killed his partner, but now that I had, I'd be a fool to leave a witness.

I grabbed him and wrestled my way over to the full-length window. As he began to guess what I had in mind, he started struggling even harder, elbowing me in the face with such force I thought for a moment I was going to black out. But I clung on, determined to maintain my grip as I dragged him ever closer, 'til finally I was able to maneuver him around, release his hold on me and shove him as hard as I could. The glass exploded outward and for one absurd moment he just hung in midair like a cartoon character, then he let out this long, loud wail and disappeared from sight as he plummeted to the street below.

I took the emergency stairs and slipped out the back of the building, having no wish to be seen by the crowd I was sure was gathering at the front. I headed back to the churchyard as fast as I could.

As I was crossing the Square, this Dragonfly suddenly dropped down out of the smoke, flying so low I thought they were going to land. It hung there for a few moments, then slowly began to circle, ever wider, 'til eventually it disappeared into the smoke again. I mean, it wasn't unusual, but it didn't do a lot for my peace of mind. I was feeling pretty guilty about what I'd done—I didn't do that sort of thing anymore, and even back in the day, I'd never been one for mindless violence—and yet really, what were we talking about? A couple of Specials, guys who'd repeatedly massacred helpless people—and who knows, maybe two who were on duty the night little Arturo got killed? They might even've assisted in some way.

I turned the corner off the Square and was just about to head down to the churchyard when I noticed something. I stopped, backtracking several paces.

It was here, too, written on the wall in even bigger letters than opposite the churchyard:

The graffiti was written in exactly the same way, and presumably by the same person. It was also quite fresh, maybe even from that morning. Immediately it set me thinking: this was another place I frequently passed, where someone might just leave a message they were hoping I'd read. But no, I knew I had to stop thinking that way. It had nothing to do with me, just someone who wanted to share something with the world. It was sheer coincidence Lena used to be blind and wasn't anymore. In fact, it wasn't even coincidence, just me trying to make something out of nothing . . . There's none so all-seeing as those out to torture themselves.

To my surprise, when I got back to the crypt I found everyone sitting around watching Jimmy's mini-screen.

“Is that okay?” I asked Jimmy.

“Yeah,” he replied, a little smugly, “if they're searching for its location, they're currently sifting street by street though St. Petersburg.”

I'd do anything but tell him, but his skill with that sort of thing never failed to amaze me. “Anything interesting?” I asked, a little
concerned in case there was any mention of the two Specials or the monster who'd taken them out.

“Ask ‘The World's Most Wanted,'” Delilah rasped drily.

“Really?”

Again Jimmy looked a little pleased with himself, though he did attempt a degree of modesty. “It's just a title,” he said. “Something snappy for people to remember me by.”

“All the other channels the same?” I asked.

Jimmy grunted. “What other channels?”

I stared at him. There'd been hundreds of different channels when I'd left for the Island, mostly little independents, but a dozen or more big players too.

“There
are
other channels,” he told me, “but Infinity or its affiliates appears to own them all. We were right: they're in total control now. What government there is—well, nothing more than a figurehead really—went bust long ago. Same old problem: too much going out, not enough coming in. The satellites were their last hope, though Infinity even paid for them. Private enterprise—and for sure I didn't have to dig far to find Infinity—called in their loans and shut them down.”

“Huh. No one told us that at the time.”

“They talk endlessly about democracy but have complete control of all media—and we know what that means, don't we. Oh yeah, and they provide free Internet, too. To
everyone
.”

“What's wrong with that?”

He gave this kind of disgusted snort. “Manipulate so-called competition laws to get rid of the opposition, then when it's just you, use it for whatever you like: censorship, spying, propaganda; invent stuff, erase it, take people out, remove their records, say they never even existed. Not cool.” He paused for a moment, then started ranting again, “No one ever stopped to think . . . it's Lemmings' Law: if everyone's doing it, it must be okay. We were seduced into becoming utterly reliant upon the media, and while we all went along blindly trusting in the idea of the greater good, Infinity was
hell-bent on its own evil agenda. In truth, we lost control almost immediately.”

He gestured at the screen. “Look what they're saying about me,” he protested. “‘The biggest threat to our society we've ever known!'
Me!
. . . I can barely put my socks on in the morning.”

“They must be pretty open about it if you found all this out,” I said, looking for some consoling factor.

Jimmy stared at me as if I was even stupider than he'd thought. “What d'ya think took me so long? I had to hack in all over the place.”

“Oh,” I said. I should've guessed that, and probably would have, if my mind hadn't suddenly shot off in its most-traveled direction. “What about Lena? D'you find anything out about her?”

He shook his head. I guess he'd known that would be my first question. “I did try, but . . . no, sorry.”

“Nothing at all?”

“I'll keep looking,” he told me. “There are holding cells in the Infinity building, I can tell you that.”

That didn't really mean much—maybe she wasn't even being held in a cell. “What about a hospital?”

“I think they've got pretty much everything in there.”

I went quiet for a moment, absently looking at the screen. There was an ad on there for some new chocolate bar—I mean, what could've been more normal? But in the context of our lives, it felt like an obscenity.

“I need you to see the place,” I told him. “It's too hi-tech for me.”

“I can't go down there,” he protested, “not if it's as secure as you say.”

“Jimmy—” I begged, and though I never actually said
Lena
, I knew he heard it all right.

“It's not going to help anyone if I get caught,” he told me.

Delilah turned to him and raised her eyebrows, like she wasn't so sure about that, but the little guy had obviously had a thought. “Mind you . . .”

“What?”

“If I could take the camera out of this,” he said, pointing at the screen, “there's a mini-monitor amongst that stuff I brought back from Hi-Tech Alley . . . a microphone . . .”

I just sat there, no idea what he was talking about, but knowing any interruption would be dismissed.

“Maybe . . . just maybe,” he went on, those wheels almost visibly spinning away in his head. “Be a bit crude, but it might do the trick.”

“Jimmy?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“You could be my eyes and ears . . . I can't go, but you can.”

I stared at him as I finally got some idea of what he had in mind. “I'm gonna be your cameraman?”

“Yeah! I tell you what I want to see, and all you gotta do is point.” He paused for a moment as another problem occurred to him. “If it's as sensitive as you say . . . it's probably got some kind of image-jamming going on.” I thought that was it, he'd run out of ideas, but no, this was
Jimmy
. “There'll have to be two of you—one with the camera, one with a shield.”

Gordie felt my eyes upon him and jumped to his feet. “No problem,” he said, acting all big and hard.

“I wouldn't,” Jimmy said. “You've probably been recorded somewhere as a grouping—appear down there together, it might set alarm bells off. You're better off with someone else—a female.”

“Lile?” I said, not wanting to offend, but fearing she really wasn't up to it.

Jimmy gestured at Hanna, and Gordie immediately let out this howl of protest. “
No way!
”

I turned to Hanna—I mean, she's a great kid, and fearless too, but I really wasn't sure about taking her to the Infinity building. She glanced up from the screen, apparently not in the least bit fazed. “Okay,” she trilled, immediately returning her attention to whatever it was she was watching.

But Gordie was a long way from happy; him and Hanna never had got on that well, and without Arturo around to act as a buffer, their antagonism had become that much more noticeable.

“You can't take
her
,” he sneered. “All she does is dance.”

“I can fight . . . if I have to,” she said, with the hint of a threat.

“As long as it's set to music,” he scoffed, but Hanna ignored him, concentrating on the screen, like he was a stupid child and she'd expected no better from him.

“Clancy!” Gordie protested.

“There's not going to be any fighting,” I told him. “Leastways, I hope not.”

“
Nooo!
” he cried, turning his back on the screen, sulking, or until he realized the only person he was punishing was himself.

In the end, Jimmy's logic prevailed. Even in the middle of the twenty-first century a man accompanied by a young female was much less threatening than two men together. And he was right about me and Gordie possibly having been logged as a group already, and covering a suspiciously wide area of the City in the last couple of days. As for the “equipment” we needed, he eagerly rose to the challenge, promising us he'd come up with something by the end of the day, and that with a bit of luck, we'd be able to head over to Infinity the following day.

He was just about to turn off the screen and start dissembling it again when he was confronted by his own image.

I tell ya, they sure had it in for him. I couldn't believe all the stuff they came up with. They'd guessed he might've disguised himself so ran through all the possibilities, ending up with making him look like the devil, with horns and all. But it was what they
said
that was truly offensive. There wasn't a thing they didn't throw at him: his senility, the money his “terrorism” was costing everyone, the fact that his parents were illegal migrants, that he was in a relationship with a prostitute (how the hell did they even know that?), that he kept the company of young children—and all reported so heavy with innuendo that it damn near fell out the bottom of the screen. By the time they'd finished with him he was an arch-terrorist, a mass-murderer, a whoremonger, a pedophile, the bastard son of illegals—and worst of all (and the charge they kept repeating over and over, as if they knew it would have the most influence), he was gonna cost every man, woman and child thousands and thousand
of dollars. There wasn't one emotive rabble-rousing button they didn't press.

And yet I couldn't help but feel there was something a little desperate about it, almost as if this huge all-powerful organization was afraid of him. I turned and looked at Jimmy: this wizened, bald old guy limping around the crypt, getting all sparkly-eyed at the possibility of using that resourceful brain of his. What the hell was there to fear in him? I guess he did take out the satellites, but that was just to escape the Island. We never really thought about the repercussions. This ceaseless vendetta against the little guy didn't make any sense at all.

Jimmy sent me out shopping. I had to trek around for some old-fashioned wire coathangers, tinfoil, all kinds of stuff I'd normally associate with setting up a home rather than embarking on a dangerous operation.

When he finally got everything finished—well, he sure was right when he'd said it'd be “crude.” He gave me this little bundle of techno-junk held together with insulating tape, and Hanna had a kind of large tennis racket that he proceeded to take apart and show her how to reassemble before taking it apart again and stuffing it into her pockets.

We talked the plan through and decided the best time would be late afternoon, just as the light was starting to fade. Even with the pall of smoke hanging over the city, broad daylight hadn't seemed like a great idea, but we needed enough light for Jimmy to get detailed images. Mind you, we were kidding ourselves if we thought less light would hamper Infinity's security in any way. I couldn't imagine there'd be any time they'd be at a disadvantage.

Gordie didn't wish us luck or even say goodbye; just made more of his acid comments. Mind you, it did feel kinda strange going off with Hanna. I seen her fight over on the Island and though she might not've looked it, underneath all that slender grace she was a real tough kid. But counting on her as my buddy, to watch my back? That was something else.

I never minded that she didn't say a lot—in fact, I preferred it. I've never been much of a talker myself, so it was pretty relaxing being with someone who didn't feel the need to constantly pick up the slack. I wouldn't've have expected us to exchange more than the odd word all the way over. However, when we got to the churchyard entrance and were about to head up toward the Square, I noticed another message, sprayed on a smaller scrap of burned wall but not far from the original. This time there were just three words:

“What the hell?” I exclaimed.

Hanna stopped and followed my gaze across the street.

“What is that?” I exclaimed. “Always this thing about being ‘blind.'”

We crossed over, me straining to see into the smoke just in case whoever had done it was still around. By the time I reached the other side, Hanna was already inspecting the graffiti.

“Still smells,” she said. “Must be recent.”

“Do you know what they mean?” I said, looking from one message to the other.

Hanna shook her head. “Not really.”

“‘There's none so blind as those who won't see' . . . ‘Love is blind'—I just don't get it.”

“Do you think it's Lena?” she asked.

I must admit, that had been one of a thousand thoughts that'd passed through my mind but I'd never really entertained it. “Why d'ya say that?”

“Could be.”

“Wouldn't she just come to the crypt?”

“Maybe she can't for some reason.”

It's weird, but as I stared into that kid's face, with its prettiness still somewhat watermarked by what she'd endured out on the
Island, I realized yet again what a complete original she was—and how useful it was having someone like her around.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I don't know,” she said, turning to walk on in that assured manner that always made me think she was making her entrance onto a stage and about to dance.

I stayed where I was, thinking it over. Even if Lena couldn't return to the church for some reason—if she was worried about leading others here, or something—she'd find a way, wouldn't she? Sighing to myself, I hurried after Hanna, afraid of losing her as she began to disappear into the smoke.

We arrived at Infinity just as the falling sun was giving the building a pink rinse, though it didn't look any less intimidating for all that. I found myself scouring those endless rows of windows again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lena. It was pretty stupid: from that distance, and through the smoke, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack blindfolded—but still I tried.