Murder of Crows (Book One of The Icarus Trilogy) (13 page)

“Yeah, I figured.  It’s not common, but you’re not the first one this had happened to.  Eventually you’ll get used to it.”  Jenkins scoffed at the veteran and looked away.

“You can’t tell me that.”

“Sure, I can.  I can say whatever I want.  This just so happens to be the truth.  After the first few years I almost looked forward to it.  It’s quiet in those few hours.  You can’t really get that here too often,” he said as he looked at the window.  “It’s almost … precious.”

Jenkins looked at the old man suspiciously.  Carver looked back at Jenkins with a wry smile tinged with a commiserate flair.

“That was my not-so-subtle form of confession, kid.”  Jenkins was taken completely off-guard with that.

“What…”

“Honest, kid.  Not something I’d lie about.”

“Every time?”

“Think so.  Memory’s starting to drop out on me.”

“But you’ve died so many…”

“Hundreds.  Thousands, maybe.  Memory loss is common with men my age.”

“How do you deal with it?”  Jenkins was dumbfounded.  He had given into despair and assumed he was in for a thousand lives of misery, but Carver was a legend.  He’d played in the games before Jenkins had been born and he had died countless times.  Carver had somehow learned to manage the darkness.

“Well,” Carver said as he shifted on the bench, “at first I was like you.  I was angry at everyone and everything.  Eventually I just couldn’t keep it up.  I couldn’t keep spending all of my energy being angry.  It was exhausting.  Besides,” he added, “it’s not exactly like they could really help me from being a fluke.  They still don’t know why it happens.”

“I started trying to get out of here at one point.  I was just desperate to make it stop.  I took one look at my balance sheet and promptly forgot about any of those dreams.  Even after a few resurrections the debts are just too much to overcome.  You’re already screwed, if you haven’t figured that out.  Without that sentence of yours you might have gotten out, but you’ve got, what, six months of the games to play?” he asked in the middle of his explanation.  Jenkins nodded at his new role model. 

“Yeah, you’re done for.  That’s the usual sentence and at that point you’re never getting out.  Might as well forget about it.  Warner wasn’t too out of line when he barked at you after that first fight.  Kid almost made it.”

“Anyway, after I found out about my debts I basically stopped caring.  I was just floating through the games.  I died more than a few times in that period.  The more apathetic I became about the whole ordeal the less the early adoption bothered me.  I knew it would always be like that and that I had nothing to be afraid of.  I ended up just flexing my muscles to get ready for the physical therapy.  It was a good way to pass the time and it really helped out.  I whole-heartedly suggest it since you’re in the same situation.”  He looked down and coughed into his hand.  Jenkins felt bad for this older version of himself.  Whatever hope Jenkins had upon finding a kindred spirit dissolved.  He had nothing to look forward to.

“You just… stopped caring?”  It was not a happy circumstance, but he hoped for some version of that same kindness.

“Yeah, well, kinda.  It just doesn’t affect me anymore.  There are always other problems to focus on, and sitting by myself in the darkness for a few hours isn’t much of a problem.  If I was a prick I’d say you’d understand when you’re older, but I’m sure you’re plenty old enough to understand that,” Carver finished while shrugging. 

He seemed to have finished his explanation.  Carver had illuminated what he could for the young soldier.  What had seemed like such a major development for the young soldier had been worth nothing more than a shrug and a sympathetic look from the veteran.  Jenkins looked at his elder and let out a heavy breath.  His path was set.  He would just have to get used to it.  However, there were more questions on his mind.

“So, what’s the deal, here?  Are we modern-day unicorns?  How many of us are there?” he asked with a half-hearted wave of his arms in front of him.

“I really have no idea.  Thought I was the only one around.  Definitely possible there’s more out there, though.  When the scientists figured out that I was destined for premature adoption with every resurrection they basically swore me to secrecy at risk of permanent death.  We used to have another one on the team but he’s…. he’s gone,” Carver said before looking away, obviously affected by a powerful memory.  He looked back up and shrugged at his compatriot.  “No use in really worrying about it, though.  We’re stuck here with ourselves.  None of them will be able to ease our minds,” Carver said as he started to twiddle with his thumbs.  He kept surprising his young compatriot with these revealed behaviors.  It was hard for Jenkins to take it all in.

“Wait, you said they threatened you with permanent death?” Jenkins asked while lowering his gaze.  Carver nodded and leaned back in the bench.  “If you were so miserable why didn’t you just take that route?  I mean, I know the feeling.”  Carver cocked his head and propped it back onto his hand.

“Kid, honestly, that’s a different situation.  No matter how terrible your life is, when actually faced with a certain decision about letting yourself die it’s difficult as hell to make it.  In that Plexiglas tube it’s pretty easy to think death could be better.  When they sit you down at a desk and talk about taking away your very existence like it’s a trade agreement it’s a little intimidating.  Even the worst circumstances aren’t enough to stop you from clinging onto any hope that things could be better here where you know how the world works.  That afterlife thing the churches always promote seems like quite the fairytale.”

“It could be better.”

“Could be worse.  Could be nothing.  It could be just the same.  You can’t know.  But this,” Carver said as he tapped his arm, tapped his chest and felt the wrinkles around his eyes.  “This is a little more concrete than a sky fairy which tempted its creations into betraying it.”  Jenkins looked at him.  He had never been the biggest believer in anything.  He always preferred the asphalt below his feet or the money in his pockets.  He liked the touch of a friendly hand.  He could completely understand where Carver was coming from.

“I guess I get it.”  Carver looked at him and sighed.

“Sad fact of life.  We’re all children of Thomas, in a way.  Doubt thrives in any circumstance.”

“Pretty depressing,” Jenkins said while staring at the table in front of him.  He had quite a bit to digest.  Carver shook his head and wiped the tiredness from his eyes.  “So,” Jenkins began, “did we lose the match?”  Carver couldn’t help but laugh at his colleague.  He shook his head and ran his hand through the fuzz that would become his hair.

“You certainly have a way of changing topics.  If you really care I talked to Dr. Kane about it.  We won,” he said while smiling dryly at the young soldier.  Jenkins raised an eyebrow at that and turned his head slightly.

“How?  I didn’t kill that last Hawk…”

“Artillery shell killed the both of ya.  Poor kid got sliced up by a bunch of steel plating.”

“Then why did we win?” Jenkins asked in a confused manner.  He didn’t understand how it could have turned in their favor.  Even if that Hawk had died he still had died
after
Jenkins faded away.

“It’s because I was still alive.”  Jenkins was alarmed by the new voice in the room.  He turned quickly to see Cortes standing in the doorway.

His anger came back like it had never been gone.

-

Cortes was staring at the ceiling.  His head hurt quite a bit.  He forgot why he was down there until he saw Jenkins’ face appear above him.  Then the soldier drove his fist into Cortes’ face with a right hook. 

It hurt.

Cortes thought about letting the man beat him to death but soon enough his survival instincts kicked in and he shoved off the man with his legs.  Jenkins rose two feet in the air but soon enough fell back down to slam his fist into Cortes’ jaw.  He was able to get two more hits in before Cortes bucked his hips and launched Jenkins past his head.  The smaller man scrambled to his feet and looked warily at the enraged soldier.  He had meant to ask forgiveness and explain that Jenkins should have lived, not him, but Jenkins had rushed him before another word had passed his lips.  The newborn Crow had knocked out Cortes for a split second with a haymaker and had followed the man down to the ground.  Now the two were staring at each other while Carver watched.  Cortes thought this wasn’t right, and without taking his eyes off Jenkins he yelled to Carver.

“So are you going to help or not, old man?”  Carver just smiled and propped his head up on one of his hands again.

“As I recall he promised to kick your ass with his new body.  I can’t really get in between that, can I?”  Cortes breathed out in exasperation as he prepared to fend for his life.  He didn’t want to fight Jenkins, especially since he felt so guilty about living through the game, but he also didn’t want to get too hurt and end up dying there in the mess hall.  He put down his hands and tried to look Jenkins in the eye. 

“Look, I know I screwed up.  I know I didn’t help you guys out.  I’m taking the blame for that.  If that means you have to kick my ass, fine.  But I’m not gonna fight back.  I feel like shit about it, ok?”  Cortes wanted to atone, but he desperately wanted his speech to change Jenkins’ mind.  He could see his brother sitting two meters away from Carver and shaking his head.  The distraction was enough for Jenkins to cover about half the distance between them and when Cortes looked back to see his opponent he found Jenkins’ knee buried in his gut.  His abdomen seized as Jenkins’ knee forced the air from his body and Cortes crumpled halfway to the ground.

On his knees he looked up to see Jenkins standing triumphant and angry.  Cortes saw a god, he saw an angry father, he saw punishment incarnate. 

He half blacked-out as Jenkins brought a hammer blow across his face.  Cortes’ head landed on the ceramic tiling and he knew there would be a bruise tomorrow.  It would be one of many.  He expected much more pain; he felt like Jenkins wouldn’t stop, but there was no other blow.  After a lull Cortes turned his already-swollen face to see Jenkins just standing there breathing heavily.  He was still angry, but there was no true malice in his eyes.  With one last huff he resumed his normal breathing pattern and looked to Carver.  The old man just shrugged at the young soldier.  He had no power over the man’s vengeance.

Jenkins turned his head back to the broken man beneath him and offered his hand.  Cortes didn’t quite understand why the assault had been stopped, but it was a welcome turn of events.  He grabbed at Jenkins’ hand and pulled himself up.  The newborn soldier brought him up and looked at his handiwork.  The Spaniard’s face would be a wreck for at least a week.  Jenkins almost couldn’t look the smaller man in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” Jenkins said before looking down at his feet.  It was the last thing Cortes expected.  He’d betrayed the man, let him die and lived to be the coward.  He half-wanted to kill himself just out of shame.  A beating was the least he deserved, and yet this man in front of him was feeling guilty about providing discipline for him.  Jenkins felt guilt for helping Cortes atone.  The hallucination of his brother just looked at him, sighed and turned to the window.  Cortes tried not to let the tear fall from his eye but he couldn’t quite help it.  Luckily the lighting was poor enough that nobody could notice.

“It’s alright, I deserved it,” he said, his speech slightly garbled by the already-fat lip that Jenkins had given him.

“No, you really didn’t.  It’s no one’s fault.  But maybe next time…,” Jenkins said as he resumed eye contact with the smaller solider.  He tried to smile but it flickered now and then, betraying the awkwardness the man felt.  Cortes decided to help him out with his request.

“I’ll help you out, don’t worry.  The beating I can take, but it’s a little rough on the soul to be the last one left,” Cortes said as he, too, tried to smile.  He could tell the man was still furious, but not at him, so that was enough for them to try to be cordial.  Jenkins offered his hand to the smaller man.  Cortes took it and they awkwardly shook hands.  Cortes felt relieved that it was over.

 Carver scoffed, shaking them out of their preoccupation.  The two soldiers had completely forgotten they had a live audience.  “We done here?”  Jenkins looked down at his feet while Cortes tried to look around.  His brother was gone, but he knew that he’d be back eventually.  The apparition liked to kick him while he was down.  The Spaniard looked back to Carver, who shifted his head to his other hand.

“Well, if that’s over and done with I suggest that we all get to bed.  We have quite the day ahead of us,” Carver said as he lifted himself to his feet and resumed his full height.  With Cortes present it seemed like it was time for the old man to stop letting his age get to him.  Jenkins could see nothing of the tired old man that he’d met in that mess hall.  The veteran just walked on by to the exit.

“What happens tomorrow, Carver?” Jenkins asked at the old man’s back.  Maybe the veteran knew something he didn’t.  Carver paused near the door and looked at the young soldier from his side.  The old man saw more of himself in the rookie after that conversation.  He saw something that hadn’t been corrupted.  Not yet.  He smiled at the young soldier and then turned back towards the doorway.

“We live or we die.  I can’t give you any other guarantees.  Try to get some dreams in, gentlemen.  They’re the only things they can’t take away,” Carver said as he disappeared through the doorway.  Jenkins looked after the old man and shook his head.  The man’s wisdom was born from years of misery, but somehow it was never polished.  Jenkins looked briefly at Cortes and sighed involuntarily.  The newborn Crow felt awful for what he had done.  He looked down and then walked after his new mentor.

Cortes watched Jenkins follow the man and couldn’t bring himself to move.  He wasn’t the same as them.  He could tell something was different.  There was some bond there that he could never hope to have with either man.  It was off-putting and made the soldier feel uncomfortable.  They were too close; they were kindred and he didn’t belong with them in that hallway.