Shadow Memories: A Novel (The Singularity Conspiracy Book 1) (7 page)

21

Chuck’s Place

But Chuck’s place,
well, let’s just say that it wasn’t doing so hot. The front door was blown wide open—a now familiar sight, and something beginning to resemble a trademark of these goons—leaving an unwelcoming dark abyss for me to walk into.

I said no thanks to that and went around back.

Standing on the toes of my sneakers, I nosed over the window, trying to see inside. The darkness wasn’t helping; whoever had disturbed old Chuck hadn’t been keen to leave the light on. People and their lack of hospitality. It was becoming a real epidemic.

Another glance in the bedroom window told the same story—a whole lot of dim lit nothing. With one window left, I wasn’t feeling too hopeful. But I shifted over to the bathroom, hoping I wasn’t going to disturb anyone. Much to my non-surprise, that wasn’t the case—and the curtain wasn’t drawn, either.

Chuck was sprawled out on the floor next to the toilet looking just about stone dead. I was squinting for a closer look when a big ugly face flashed before me. Someone had been bent over in the darkness, just out of my field of view.

The giant who had been destroying all these doors.

Even in the murky nothingness, his craggy, knotted face gave me chills. And it didn’t help matters that he was looking straight at me. I considered waving, but then he was gone—agile for a big fella. Unsure whether to head back the way I came or around the other side of the house, I froze, dropping the bag of cash.

By the time I’d snatched it back up and decided to retrace my steps, I rounded the corner only to run smack into a chest that had been crafted during many a strenuous sojourn to the gym. The impact was just about enough to drop me. I staggered back, or at least tried to, but a broad hand grabbed me and shoved me through the faux-stucco siding of Chuck’s house.

The cheap wood crunched as my shoulder went through it, which would have made for a great scene in a Hong Kong action flick, but not one I was eager to star in. The big guy had not only the drop, but all the advantages in his corner: fighting skills, weight class and various other lethal abilities lacking from my own résumé.

I tossed a punch toward him, which he swatted away before sending another crushing blow into my ribs. I fell into some bushes. A growling gave me some hope that my just minted guard dog would come again to the rescue, but the distinct sound of a boot hitting a furry stomach, followed by an extended whimper, shot that idea right down.

Crawling along the ground, vision narrowing, I could see the street. Maybe someone walking by would take pity on me. Hell, maybe—

But then a kick to the jaw made everything go dark.

22

Airwaves

Bumpy.

It was bumpy riding in the trunk.

They don’t put any of the fancy shock stuff or padding back there, because they figure no idiots would wind up in one.

Just my luck. I was that lone idiot, and in addition to a howling chest that reminded me to quit this investigating business every time I took a breath, my head swam. And not that good kind, where you at least know that you received a night of piss-drunk revelry in exchange for your pain. No, this is the kind you get when someone who boxes for hundred dollar backyard purses clocks you in the jaw.

Should’ve gotten out of town once I had the twenty grand. Even after the next five. But no, I got greedy, had to collect Chuck’s dough, too.

I tried to roll over and instead tilted onto my face, crashing into a mouthful of fur. Fox groaned and licked my open mouth.

Insult, meet injury.

At least he wasn’t dead. Andre the Giant’s boot looked lethal when I’d seen it coming in slow motion towards my jaw, but here I was. Maybe a few brain cells lighter, but still intact.

I jiggled and rubbed against the plastic zip tie binding my wrists, but it was of little use. The sharp edges cut ridges into my skin, rubbing it raw—but that was about all that happened. After a minute of uncomfortable chafing, I gave up and sank into the trunk liner.

The bumping stopped for a few moments, and I had hope—of what, I wasn’t sure—that the ride was over and the jolts would cease. But then the car picked up again, and the herk-and-jerk began anew, my head bobbing about like a cheap doll.

It got smoother as we picked up speed. On the one hand, I was thrilled to no longer feel like trucking cargo; on the other, I was concerned that I was being sent to a farm. The one where everyone’s dogs and grandparents played together all day long.

But I wasn’t headed there just yet.

Our vehicle rocked and spun with a crash, the twisting metal and explosion of broken glass filling my ears with unwelcome, harsh sounds. Circling like a top, with me bouncing in the trunk the entire time, we came to a rest as the back end slammed into a sign on the side of the road.

Woozy, and smelling blood, I faded in and out, hearing what I thought were footsteps. If I wasn’t concussed before, this had sealed the deal. At least we hadn’t flipped. But yeah, there were boots clomping outside, and I could hear the door—our car door—creak open, mangled hinges sighing.

The heavy guy—it had to be him—set one foot down on the pavement, then the other. But whoever the other boots belonged to, they were already on him.

The guy, he didn’t say a word. But I heard the car door slam over and over again, him groaning in lower and lower registers until there was nothing left to draw upon. I felt the car lurch as his weight settled against the ruined chassis.

My immobile hands strained for something, anything in the darkness. But the big guy, he was thorough; the trunk was bare. Another psychopath was going to get to me first. I was becoming a hot commodity.

I thought about rearing back to launch a kick in this mysterious person’s direction when they opened the trunk, but then I remembered that my feet were bound, too.

The trunk opened; even the dusk seemed bright, like the fires of hell were descending upon me.

“Don’t do it, please don’t do it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

I opened one eye, and Cassie’s form faded into focus. She had a wry grin on her face.

“Aren’t you good under pressure,” she said, “remind me not to tell you any secrets.” The blade in her hand glinted with a thin dash of crimson. I didn’t need to ask who it came from. “Well, come on.” She gestured for me to get up, and after a few false starts, I managed to wiggle myself into a position where she could cut my bonds.

Out of the trunk and rubbing circulation into my limbs, I stared at the sedan. We were at a T-intersection, and the truck, that glorious old workhorse, sat idling perpendicular to my would-be kidnapper’s totalled car. The front was mashed up, but it didn’t look much uglier or more bruised than that.

After shaking himself off, Fox bounded from the trunk and sneezed, no worse for wear from the encounter.

“He got you with the dog?” Cassie asked as we walked, “Christ you’re bad.”

“The money,” I said, hobbling back, “you get the money?”

“Yeah. From the passenger side.”

I stopped, relieved that I wouldn’t have to root through the wreckage. I could see blood starting to pool under the big guy.

“You killed him?” Cassie didn’t answer. I made my way back to the truck and opened up the passenger side, letting Fox get in first. “He’s dead?”

“Had to be done,” she said, and we just let that linger on the airwaves as she pulled away and headed back into town.

23

Tracked

“I guess I
should be thanking you,” Cassie said as we walked into our door-less office, “tracking this down and all.”

I wasn’t in favor of returning home, but she wore the pants, and committed the executions, so she got the biggest say.

I’d just been informed that the figurine I’d rescued from Manny’s wasn’t a dog, or a wolf, or a giraffe, but a coyote-mountain lion hybrid. That explained why it looked so amateurish. I’d kept that bit to myself.

“How’d you find me, anyway?” I extracted a healthy mound of ice from the freezer and put it to my damaged ribs. “That had to be five miles outside the Heights. And no one was around when Thor decided to put the hammer down.”

Cassie tossed the money on the table and resumed her post in front of the laptop.

“I tracked you.”

“Yeah, but through what? I had no phone. Nothing else. Off the grid.”

“Greenville called. Told me the truck was in impound. I picked it up, asked where you’d gone. Told me you went to Chuck’s, so I headed over and caught the tail-end of the giant killer hauling the dog into the trunk.” She shrugged and leaned back, tapping a key and examining the results. “Got lucky, I guess.”

“You seem awful happy to get back that shitty figure.”

“Call me sentimental.”

“Bullshit.” I threw the ice to the ground, then regretting it due to the pain. “You know something.”

“I’m not the one running off like a secret agent.”

“I was trying to make some money,” I said, “and I got the photos. Chuck just wound up—”

“Dead? Yeah, people who come in contact with these guys seem to.”

“Sounds like you know them.”

“I’m just saying it was stupid of you to run out there like that,” Cassie said, fidgeting on the couch.

“There was no way I could know—hell, even suspect—that Chuckie’s wife was sucking off Dr. Otto Von Dickmunch, right-hand man of the most well-funded paramilitary ancient history enthusiast in the world. I mean, hell, something like this has never happened.”

“Given the circumstances, I figured you’d be more careful.”

“Given the circumstances,” I said, picking up the bag of ice from the ground with a wince, “I’d expect you to level with me and tell me what’s going on. Because it’s a hell of a lot more than you let on.”

I went into the bedroom and shut the door.

A few minutes later, there was a knock.

“Kurt?”

I didn’t answer.

“Kurt,” she said, “I need your help with something.”

I cracked the door, and I could see the computer screen going nuts in the unlit living room. Maybe it thought it was scheduled to throw a rave.

“Call tech support.”

“Just come. I’ll explain everything afterwards. At least what I know.”

And I did. Before I left, I placed a couple chairs in front of the open door. Fox barked, but he wasn’t coming along for this one. His track record in pressure situations was spotty.

So was mine, but I was still batting a decent average. Sometimes, though, there’s no room for error.

24

First Contact

We headed down
to the beach. I’d had enough of sand and saltwater, but I reeled in my tongue and followed Cassie. The daytime loungers were gone, their presence replaced by an uncertain melancholy peace.

This go round, Cassie wasn’t headed for the rocks. We walked in the opposite direction, which was fine by me; far as I was concerned, we’d seen just about everything there was in the vaunted cliffs of Seaside Heights. If I never saw the inside of another cave again, I’d die a somewhat more satisfied man.

Cassie kept looking at her watch, over and over, as we made slow time up the beach.

“Where are we headed?” I asked, more than once, but she just waved me off.

It seemed like we were just going to wander along the beach for the rest of the night. A better alternative to being attacked by thugs, sure, but my ribs were beginning to mount a protest against the aimless trotting.

“Here,” she said, and I blinked, rubbing my eyes. I hadn’t missed anything; there just was nothing to be seen but endless sand, the crashing waves and a few too many pieces of trash littering the landscape.

“Where?”

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“We wait,” she just said again, and I sank down on to the sand, staring at my watch off and on. Cassie remained upright, at attention, as if we were waiting for someone important.

A bright light burst through the sky, just like the one in the cave. I covered my face, trying to peer out, catch a glimpse of what was going on. I couldn’t. It was like someone had set off a flashbang grenade—a ton of them—right in front of me.

A breeze blew through my hair, accompanied by a loud whirring. Something was happening. If only I could’ve seen what it was.

Through shut eyelids, I could see the light begin to dissipate. There was still a glow, but it was dull enough that I could take a look.

And if I wasn’t already sitting down, I would have fallen over.

25

Memory

There was Cassie,
standing like this was normal.

Well, not quite. But she was handling this
situation
with more poise then I was.

Because me, well, I was about ready to dial up the looney bin for an extended stay. I must’ve swallowed too much water during my fall off the cliffs. Brain damage from the car accident.

Hell, maybe I was dead, experiencing the Rapture.

Lights blinked alongside this—this thing’s—side. It was a smooth metal craft, maybe ten feet high. Wide. That wasn’t what was special, though.

The metal moved, like it had a pulse. And inside, illuminated by all the dials, was a creature. Not like anything I’d ever seen before.

I raised myself off the ground and took a step towards the downed craft. Wisps of smoke trailed from its back, disappearing a few feet above. The thing moaned and spoke in some indecipherable tongue. I placed another foot towards it, and the whole apparatus shuddered.

I jumped back.

“The hell is this,” I said, “a joke? You’re joking, right?”

Cassie didn’t respond, and the craft kept making noise in low, muted bursts. I garnered up the courage to sidle up next to it. I reached out and touched it.

The metal felt like skin. Soft, malleable. Not cold. Alive.

I peered inside what could be considered a cockpit. A smooth head, bent over, smashed against the glass-like window, held in by its straps. A human being. Dead, or close to it.

No movement, at least not on the inside. The spacecraft continued its lament.

“That’s what you were doing on the computer,” I said, turning to face Cassie, “but how…?”

She still didn’t have any answers; at least, none that she was willing to share.

Then the thing said something I could understand.

“Help me.” The words were crisp, clean, no dialect. Pure English. And then, with a shake and a stutter, the craft stopped moving.

“That was the guy, right,” I said. “Tell me that was the guy.”

Cassie didn’t have a response. She looked ready to search for a padded room herself, after those two words.

“Uh, Cass,” I said. “Now would be a good time to know what the hell’s going on.”

She extracted her curved blade and went around the back, jabbing it into the hull with a squishy noise.

“Got its flight recorder,” she said, returning with what looked like a clump of blood and guts, then stomping it beneath her boot, “now we need to make it disappear for a couple hours. It can’t be out here.” I looked at her like she was crazy. I wasn’t a trained magician, but I was unsure how we were going to dematerialize a massive spacecraft with a wave of our hands.

She began to gather up rocks from the beach’s craggy ridges. I followed her lead, unsure what they were meant for, but choosing to play along. Once we’d made a respectable pile next to the wreckage, she smashed the glass—it must’ve been just that—on the front with a sharp jab of her elbow. And then she began filling the cockpit up.

It took about ten, fifteen trips to find enough stones to weigh that thing down, but we managed. Covered in sweat, I collapsed on the cool beach, exhausted. I wasn’t cut out for making people disappear. I’d have made a terrible hit man.

Cassie sat down beside me and said nothing. A little while later, she stood up.

“Now the real fun begins.”

She leaned into the back of the craft and started pushing. I got up and did the same, my body about ready to give up the ghost for good. After heaving for a few moments, the ship careened onto its side and started rolling down the gentle hill towards the ocean.

“Aren’t all the rocks going—” I said, but I caught a glimpse of the cockpit in the moonlight, and the glass was back, like nothing had happened at all. “What the…” But I didn’t have time to ponder that. My depleted muscles were needed to keep this thing rolling.

We did it until the tide lapped at our ankles, and we kept going until a good head of saltwater was covering the thing up.

Cassie exited and started walking back.

“Isn’t it going to wind up on the beach again?” I asked, hurrying to catch up to her. “We didn’t get it out very far.”

“It’ll be gone in two hours,” she said, “we just need to make sure it stays hidden until then.”

And we watched, scanning for strangers that might not be cool with seeing a UFO. None came.

That is, unless you counted the bright light that blinded everything out. I checked my watch. An hour and fifty-eight minutes.

These guys, whoever they were, didn’t play around.

I was set to ask for an explanation, but I fell asleep the instant my body hit the truck’s passenger seat.