Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (4 page)

"Oh, God..."

Three bodies, all of them tiny. Infantile. They were incinerated together in an unrecognizable alloy of parts so that each was slurred into the other, distinct yet inseparable. Their limbs, now protruding awkwardly from different sides of the mass, were curled into their shriveled torsos, like the legs of a dead spider. The battered heads hung from the collective corpse like crushed, blackened fruit. One sizzled half-opened eye, the bottom lid curled back from it, stared at Burke with the pallid and lifeless gaze of the dead.

He struggled to keep his lunch down.

The wind blew again, rustling the body bag, and for the first time, Burke noticed the note attached to its handle. He plucked it, reading the simple message over and over.

End this.
 

The note ended there.

What little warmth was left in him rushed away in a vacuum. In its place, he felt a chill he hadn't felt for years. Partly for the infants, but mostly for what he knew he was being asked to do.

No. No, not now. Not again.

"Not now and not ever!" He raged, lifting his boiling brown eyes to the sky. "I gave them the Articles39! That's good enough! It's over, and I'm done with this! Done!"

The scattered remains of the dead children began to move. Burke stepped back, now unsurprised. He watched the limbs curl farther in, the wide pale eye rolling back as though alive-- and then the bodies all crumbled apart, smoothly sinking back into the earth from whence they came.
 

Burke cursed and slammed his foot into the body bag, scattering it and its burned contents across the soil. He stormed back into his house, rammed the door closed, and drew the shades-- drew darkness-- on the unhallowed rose bush and its blossoms of death.
 

The concrete tongue of the George Washington Bridge led Zeika into a large, stone plaza. She jogged through, nodding at the guards stationed at the mouth of the bridge. They barely looked up from their poker game as she left the Seventh.
 

She looked around the plaza. The Converge. The place where the gravel, grass, and granite from the three Protected Civic Demesnes all met. Long lines of tattered refugees snaked from the entry gates of the Sixth and Fifth Demesnes as they waited to be cleared by security. No one dared to approach the gate of Demesne Seven. Zeika ventured forward, towards her home: Demesne Five.

She skipped the endless queue of workers and exiles, drawing glares as she did.

"Hey! The line starts back
there
, kid," someone grumbled, pointing way behind him.

Sorry, pal.
 

She generally didn't believe in VIP or special privilege, but the clock was ticking, and she wasn't going to wait. Not today, at least. She looked down to rummage in her pockets for her pass-- and slammed right into the back of a man she hadn't seen, one who'd stepped out of the line to admire the traffic. She stumbled, and at the same time, the man turned.

"Sorry, kid. Didn't see you."

Her annoyance was snuffed out as she looked up. The man was tall, sturdy, with eyes that spoke from beneath the hood of his trench coat. He had a box tucked under his arm, and a sweet nature about his strong features. Moreover, he looked clean, with a familiar insignia embroidered on the shoulder of his coat. She blinked. He was an Azure. And he was actually waiting in line.

She stood and stared at him, her surprise keeping her rooted.

He raised an eyebrow. "Problem?" It was more of a genuine question than a threat, but he was looking at her, actually waiting for an answer.

"You're waiting in line." She knew it was the dumbest thing she'd said in a long time, but this was something she'd never seen, not in her sixteen years of living and breathing.

"Yeeaah, well, it's what people do. Except you, apparently. Who the hell are you, the queen?" Then he smiled, shifting the weight of his box. It was a tired smile, warm. Azure men in the Protecteds generally only spoke to Civilian girls for one reason, but for the first time, she didn't feel that vibe. Was he just being nice?

Do you have time to care?

"Yeah. Sorry. Bye." She turned away, deciding she didn't like Azures who visited Demesne Five, even if they
did
wait in line, the bastards. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. He was nice at least. Decent.

"What's your business here, kid? You're out past curfew."

She'd barely gotten to the gates when the wide silhouette of the man approaching her almost swallowed her whole. Any pretenses she had that Azures were nice people were blown away as he glared at her. By his red beefy neck, hooded uniform, and eau de ass, Zeika knew he was an Azure policeman. Or "Alchemic Police", as they sometimes corrected her, if it applied, to remind her of their status differences. For her, the distinction between the two was negligible. She called them all "APs" for short. 'Ass pixies', was what it meant for her, but she usually kept those thoughts to herself.
 

'Officer Kirk Donovan', the badge said. That'd do.

"I'm just getting off work, trying to get home," she explained, eyeing his gun holster warily. She was careful to keep her empty hands in full view. "I'm a daily commuter. The guy that used to be posted here could vouch for that."

"The guy that used to be posted here isn't vouching for anything. He got hit with a stroke this afternoon and kicked the bucket. You're gonna have to deal with me now, sweetheart." Kirk's mouth curled down. "Ghosts like you aren't supposed to be out this late. It's past curfew. What were you doing over in the Seventh?"

Zeika pushed back her hood and cowl, almost having forgotten she was wearing it. Her long braids spilled out, but she tied them back into a ponytail as she stepped up him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pendant, trying to ignore the way his hand was gravitating to his gun holster. She held it out to him, and after shooting her a suspicious glare, he took it from her, examining it.

"Name?" He took a pad out of his pocket.

"Anon. Like 'cannon'. Drop the 'c' and the extra 'n'."
 

"First name?"

"You don't need it. There's only one Anon on there."

He glowered at her, flipped the pad closed. "How do I know this pass isn't forged?"

"It could be," she said, sighing. "But why would I want to
forge
a pass to get into the crappy Fifth? 'Specially if I'm coming out of the Seventh?"

"That's a damn good question." Kirk's partner, a man with a gruffer voice and twice the gut, stepped forward out of their booth, his eyes piercing her with accusation. "What kind of business are you into over there anyways, civvie?" The tattooed badge on the right shoulder of his uniform blazed darkly as he advanced. It was the Monas Hieroglyphica, the symbol of the Alchemic Order.

Zeika narrowed her eyes. "My
business
is that I break paper there. And if you've forgotten, Azure, the Seventh belongs to Civilians. You can squat on our turf all you like, but that doesn't make it yours."

"Sounds an awful lot like something a Koan would say. Don't it?" The other AP turned to Kirk, who was still investigating the work pass.
 

"I don't have to be Koa to know bread from bullshit," she snapped. "I have a work pass, and it's legit, so let me through. Besides, seems to me like you have a lot more to focus on than a small-time waitress trying to make it home." She motioned around the plaza filled with refugees and homeless.

"You telling me what my job is here, scarlet?" With a dark gaze, the AP took a step closer, and his shoulders seemed to widen as he looked down on her.
 

Zeika tensed, and on reflex, she raised her hands, keeping her eyes level with his. Surprise flickered through the AP's face.

"Heh," he muttered. "So we've got a tough one here. She thinks she's got special privilege. Someone over in the Seventh giving you 'special privilege', kid? An older Azure gentleman, perhaps?"

She pursed her lips. "Let me pass."

The AP's grin widened. "The only way a civvie like you could get a work-pass like this is if you've become an Azure trash can. Whose horn are you tootin' over in the Seventh?"

She seared the guard with a hellish gaze as he smirked down on her.

"She's not gonna say," Kirk said, finally looking up from her work pass. "Business contracts like that are 'don't-ask-don't-tell'. The little brat must be beddin' a higher-up."

"Yeah, well you know what they say about civvie chicks, 'specially the young ones." The guard never broke his triumphant gaze with hers. "Lips sealed tight, pussies like black holes... suck everything in."

She trembled, feeling rage kick up her adrenaline. She didn't have time for this, but she definitely felt ready to make some if he didn't get the hell out of her way. "Let. Me. Pass."

Kirk smiled. "With pleasure." He handed her pass back to her and stepped out of the way.

"Dicks," she muttered, and she brushed by him, passing through the checkpoint.

She spared another angry glance back as she walked through-- and saw that the man she'd bumped into earlier had stepped fully out of line, box and all, and was talking to the officers. He didn't look happy, his seemingly sweet nature driven out by a dark and seething gaze and what looked like an alphabetical storm of curses. He wasn't defending her... was he?

Too little, too late, pal.

She shook her head. It had been a popular idiom of the old world. An anthem, really. Apparently, the new world wasn't any different. Choosing gravel, she pulled down her hood and ventured forward into the Fifth Demesne.

Caleb Rai walked into the Demesne Five Police headquarters, a heavy box tucked under one arm. He adjusted it once more, wishing he had brought a duffle bag instead. About a week's worth of clothes, case files, and personal items equaled about fifty pounds of pain-in-the-ass. But it was necessary. Sleeping in at precincts had become the norm since Koa had reared its head. Work was always piling up, as were the leads, and going home nightly simply became less of an option for Azure police. Especially if you aimed to make a higher rank.

The Azure rat race, and not a slice of cheese in sight.

He looked around, already feeling drained. The station was teeming with at least one hundred APs, each one of them scurrying back and forth and going at their daily duties. Joseph was supposed to have met him at the door about twenty minutes ago, and Caleb had gotten tired of waiting. He had arrived in Demesne Five only two weeks before, to move into his Riverdale condo and give himself a tour of the demesne. He wanted to keep in tradition by getting into headquarters ahead of schedule too. His debriefing with the captain was at twenty-hundred, and he'd gotten in a little early to get settled into his new office.
 

He checked his watch and sighed with exasperation. 7:25 pm. Joseph was a good guy. Funny, fair, and smart as a fox, especially where the lab was concerned. But today, he was just screwing with his timetable. If he didn't find his office soon, he'd have to roll into the interview with a carton full of granola bars and boxer shorts. Not exactly what he called dignified.
 

He creased his brow, trying to decide which way to venture first and nixing every idea that came to mind. His office was somewhere around the west wing, in the Detectives sector, but interrupting the APs to get the guided tour felt like a dick move--

"Rai!"

Caleb breathed out in relief as he turned to see someone jogging towards him. Under the mop of messy black curls and the nutmeg complexion, Caleb could tell it was Joseph, and like usual, his grin was so wide that the top of his head almost separated from its bottom. They hadn't seen each other since they'd graduated from AP training a little over four years ago... and the asshole had grown a goatee.

"Sorry, man. I got held up in the lab. We're hot on some Koan tail right now so time is of the essence."

"The rock star life of a forensic scientist," Caleb said, grinning. "What's with the face pubes?"

Joseph grinned, stroking the bristles at his jaw. "We're men of the law now, dude. Gotta be dignified."

"Right." Caleb snorted as they started to walk.

"So. What happened?"

Caleb looked at him and decided he didn't have to answer. Technically, by law he wasn't required to, but on a personal note, it was just a dumb question to ask. He cut Joseph a lethal glare and kept walking.

Joseph chuckled. "All right, hot shot. At least I didn't ask if you dropped the soap, yeesh! So sensitive."

Caleb sighed, giving in. "Lots of bars, lots of metal, lots of sweaty guys with cock-sized problems and problem-sized cocks, who made a huge deal of both. And I wasn't interested in any of it. So I'm out, so I'm here, so this conversation's over."

"Fine, fine," Joseph said, laughing, his hands in the air. "I was just trying to catch up!"

They made a turn past the busy desks, and Caleb noticed that some of the APs had stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Not one of them looked happy to see him. A few were sizing him up, even. Not surprising. He'd already mixed it up with a couple guards at the Converge after they'd harassed a Civilian girl, and by their smug attitudes, it hadn't taken him long to figure out the local ethos: dicks and donuts.
These
guys looked hungry, though; it was new blood syndrome, prevalent only in the most dysfunctional of police precincts, and he'd heard that the Fifth was the worst. He half expected their pupils to contract as they watched him walk by.

"Cannibals..." he muttered, but Joseph hadn't heard him. He was still talking, not having noticed that the hallway had turned into a gauntlet.

"It's hard, you know, getting knocked off the perch," Joseph said. "But you're back on your game. If your training's still worth anything, you'll be king of the ring in no time."

Caleb actually found it in himself to laugh. "Yeah, well, I'm not here for that. I'm here to serve and protect. That's always been the plan. Don't see a need to change now."

"Right... you'll be singing a different tune once you get a load of the local coos coos. You'd be amazed at how quick civvie skivvies drop for the badge. 'Specially a high-ranking badge. Drives 'em crazy." Joseph winked at him, and Caleb chose to ignore the gesture as they made another turn, going deeper into the station, leaving the main offices, and the predatory glares, behind.