Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis (10 page)

“Does a giant friggin’ bomb count?” Nicole pushed her way through hanging plastic. She trembled, but advanced anyway.

“I don’t think the people who died in this had time to even mess their pants,” said Kirsten.

They fanned out, drifting among cracked concrete support posts, hanging wires, and exposed pipes. Boots scuffed, the wind howled, and soon none of them noticed the sour awfulness of the all-too-close black zone to the north. Ten minutes into the search, Nicole raised her voice, so close to the timbre of a frightened child, Kirsten got worried.

“Kiki… I don’t like this.”

Kirsten ran toward the sound, her haste causing her to stumble over the debris of a few chairs and a desk. Past a still-standing section of wall, she rounded a corner and skidded to a halt with her mouth hanging open. An area eighteen feet across glimmered with metallic silver paint. A circle was traced on the ground, laced with intricate symbols resembling runes and pictographs. Half-molten candles had been arranged at seven points around the exterior, lining up with the geometric arrangement of shapes within. Three white, three black, and one gold.

Lines divided the interior of the circle into sections, each filled with drawings. They had a crude sophistication, not childlike, not primitive, but simple. Kirsten squatted, hesitant to touch it. Fingertips hovering a hand’s width away, she noted some of the lines were etched into the concrete. The energy at this spot grew overwhelming, forcing Nicole to back away, arms folded and shaking.

“Someone engraved this here; it was meant to last awhile.”

Dorian’s voice echoed from the side, at a yell. “Found an M3 wire burned on the ground. Junction box out in the hall has a Tricor Fiber uplink, or what’s left of one. Whoever lived here was a big time net head.”

“What’s that,” gasped Nicole, pointing.

Kirsten looked, seeing nothing. “What?”

“A shadow just moved over there. Big. Assault Marine big.”

“Please don’t be fucking with me here, Nikki.” Kirsten stepped around the circle; something in the back of her head told her not to cross it.

“I swear I’m not.” The redhead’s tiny voice sounded as if it came from an eight-year-old.

“Who’s there?” Kirsten’s voice echoed into the wind.

Nicole sniffled.

“You can wait in the car if you want.”

The lights on Nicole’s helmet swept back and forth with a rapid headshake. “No, I’m not leavin’ you here alone.”

A dry rasping chuckle settled through the entire floor, thinning Kirsten’s blood. It had no focus, no direction, reverberating from everywhere. Then she saw it―a shadow crept along the far side of the room between columns and patches of still-standing wall. Large, like Nicole said, maybe seven feet tall. Malice replaced the fear in the air.

Something hated her.

Nicole screamed. Kirsten whirled, finding her friend staring aghast at Dorian. He had moved closer, six feet away from the edge of the silver circle. His hair shifted as if wind blew through it; faint transparency meant he was visible.

Pain.

Kirsten howled, losing her E-90 and falling on all fours. Someone had poured gasoline on her back and lit it. No, someone shot her with a laser. No, burning iron spikes had rammed themselves into her kidneys and twisted. She scrabbled at the ground, crawling forward. Her knee bumped the weapon, she remembered it, and put one hand on it. Cold sweat, the pain in her back increased to the point it did not hurt anymore.

Blue dots glowed in the dark, the holographic gunsight drifted side to side in her trembling grasp. Nicole slid to a halt behind her, weapon out as well. Kirsten caught her breath and got angrier. Standing with Nicole’s help, she stowed the weapon and forced her eyes into the astral world. Her left arm was tucked against her chest, paralyzed from the pain all along that side of her body. If not for Nicole holding her up, she would have fallen. The lash unfurled to the floor from her right hand. Kirsten squinted at the darkness. Shadows slid across the ground as if the moon fast-forwarded across the sky. The mood lightened. Wind no longer made the slightest sound.

Whatever it was had left, and taken fear with it.

“Holy shit, that noodly thing is so pretty.” Nicole, back to her old self, shook her shoulder. “Are you okay? What was that scream?”

Kirsten relaxed her mind; the lash evaporated, her eyes returned to the mortal world. “I don’t know.” She swooned off her feet.

Nicole held on, easing her to sit on a toppled filing cabinet. She grunted. The pain returned, weaker this time, as though someone held a single candle too close to her back. Dorian jogged over, shaking his head.

“I saw something move. It came out from behind the post, shot over to you, and went back so fast it was a blur.”

“Wraith? Maybe it’s pissed off I got its little brother.” She grimaced. “Dammit, my back is burning.”

Nicole pulled Kirsten’s shirt out of her pants, and gasped. The helmet-mounted tactical lights turned Kirsten’s back luminous, the color of new fallen snow. Kirsten’s armband chimed. Email from Nicole.

“Look at that… And damn, girl, get some sun.”

Kirsten glanced up at her friend, and then opened the message. A photo of her from behind, milk-white skin marred red by three vertical scratches about six inches long over the left kidney. The skin was welted, angry and red, looking every bit as hot as it felt. It did not bleed much, the depth little different from what one might expect from a petulant housecat.

“Just a scratch.” Nicole patted her on the shoulder. “The way you screamed I thought you’d been stabbed.”

Kirsten shuddered as she forced herself to sit up straight. “It hurts a shitload more than it looks. You like peeking into my head, check this bad boy out.”

Dorian chuckled. “I wouldn’t recommend you do that.”

“Yeah.” Nicole shook her head. “I won… What the fuck? Did I just hear Dorian again?”

“Hey, Dorian… Help me out here?” grunted Kirsten.

He stooped and put a hand into her back through the wound.

“Ahh.” She closed her eyes. “Nice and cold.”

“Sergeant Icepack, reporting for duty.” He saluted with his other hand, then got serious. “I feel something. There’s a taint in the wound.”

Nicole, feeling helpful, applied a stimpak to her friend.

Kirsten belted out every known swear word, and made a few new ones up on the spot. The scratches faded away and came back, in a repeating cycle resembling strips of bacon floating in milk. When it stopped, the marks remained as before. She could not help but cry from how bad that hurt.

“Maybe you need a priest?” Dorian cocked a grin.

A minute or so later, she unclenched her jaw enough to speak. “Priest my ass. That’s all mind over matter stuff. Only works if you believe it, and you know my opinion.”

“I’m not sure
you
know your opinion anymore.” He put his hand back into the wound.

“This is kinda freaky.” Nicole giggled. “I’m not astrally sensitive. I shouldn’t be hearing him. I’m gonna go take pictures and stuff of the weird silver crap.”

Out.
Kirsten closed her eyes.
Get out of me. Whatever you are, get out of me.

Kirsten focused her psionic energy inward, searching for a trace of any presence. This was a new experience. Something had left dark energy behind. The miasma felt slimy, unclean. Just like the crazy doctor’s dominion over the door at the asylum.

Out!
She demanded, her mind-voice screaming at the top of its non-lungs.

She pictured her energy wrapping around a thing that squirmed and fought back. Pain plucked at her back as though scabs peeled out of the claw marks. She clenched the psionic fist and crushed, pulled. A flash of pain came on as if someone ripped a strip of duct tape away from her skin, followed by a sense of a tiny oblivion. Kirsten’s eyes snapped open, she lurched forward and grabbed a charred column, panting.

Cool air over her back reminded her of three scratches.

After a few breaths, she straightened up and slipped a stimpak out of her belt case. Thumbnail flicked the yellow safety cap off the end.

Dorian’s hand moved to her shoulder. “You sure you want to do that to yourself again?”

“Yeah.” She eyed the shiny metal tip. “Don’t want it to get infected.”

ity Road 1804 and Morris Avenue showed as the property of Kukla Investments, LTD, after purchase via government auction seven months ago. The original owner, Westmoreland Properties, lost it amid a legal battle involving unpaid insurance premiums and a tax snarl. Kukla got a hold of it for about a hundredth of its value.

Kirsten tapped her fingers on the side of her head; two coffees and a strawberry-filled crepe had almost cured the memory of the horrible pain. The financials had the appearance of some kind of fraud, but she could not put it together. Westmoreland collected no money on the deal, not to mention being under lawsuit for back taxes. Kukla bought it from the government at a price so cheap it verged on criminal, but had done not a damn thing with it since they acquired it. Surprising, since no one else even bid at the auction. After licking a bit of strawberry from the rim of her cup, she drained the last of the now-tepid brew.

“Any luck?” Nicole slid her chair over.

Seeing Nicole act like a normal person and not a sugared-up tween worried Kirsten. “You okay? You seem a bit off.”

“I guess I’m still a bit scared. I kind of felt something follow us out of there.”

“I didn’t see anything,” said Dorian.

Nicole did not bat an eyelash at his voice. That felt normal enough to let Kirsten smile.

“Dorian didn’t see anything,” she whispered. “Please don’t go yakking about him. Even here, talking about ghosts can get you looked at weird.”

“I believe you… I mean, before an hour ago I…” Head scratching and a forced grin changed the subject. “Got some info on the hamburger.”

“Lunch?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I believe she means the victims of the demolition work.”

“Oh. Good, I’m sick and tired of chasing an accounting trail. It looks so suspicious but makes no sense.”

“What does?”

“Place goes boom. Owner has no insurance, so no one is willing to pay for the repairs. Tenants leave, holding company can’t pay taxes, government takes the building and sells it at auction. Only one outfit bids on it, not a single other person or business tries. They get it at bare minimum, but then do nothing with it.” She waved at the screen. “They just let it sit there.”

“That’s weird,” Nicole said with a nod of finality, as if her statement answered everything.

That’s why you’re tactical, sweetie.

Kirsten reclined, breathing warm coffee-air through icy fingers. “Maybe they wanted to do something with the property but the proximity to the grey zone scared off potential tenants?”

“I bet people got freaked out by the hit squad.”

Wow, that almost sounded useful.
“What hit squad?”

Nicole kicked off Kirsten’s desk, gliding back to her own. A second later, Kirsten’s chair propelled itself to join her. The unexpected motion caused a yelp and flailing arms, then a glower.

Kirsten stalled her acceleration with two hands on Nicole’s desk, squinting. “Little warning, please.”