Shards (3 page)

He thrust his hand into the
centre of the fire. The hand that held Amy's till the very end.
Flames took hold within a heartbeat. The stench of burning leather
and flesh filled his senses, the familiarity bittersweet. Tapping
into his ball of rage, he tightened his fist, then snatched it back
out into the night air.

The fire squirmed and writhed
in his hand. An animated yellow-white flame, fey, vaguely humanoid.
A parody of life. The elemental spirit flailed in his grasp,
desperate to return to its sheath of flames. Leather sizzled and
smoked from its throes. Caught naked in the cold air, the flame
quickly fizzled inside his fist.

Barely aware of the blistering
and lingering heat, he rubbed the smouldering glove on jeans
ingrained with soot. The smell of scorched skin wafted across the
campsite.

He watched with feral delight
as the campfire dulled. Despite the available fuel, it waned before
his eyes. With its heart, its essence, stolen, the fire soon
sputtered and died.

The scene was almost played out
by rote now. He'd lost count of how many fires he'd stared down.
Only the scars kept score.

Under the glow of moonlight
fractured by the trees, he retrieved the sleeping bag stowed on his
bike and unfurled it over the lumpy earth. He eyed the charred
firewood, the dead coals, and then climbed inside his bedroll.

Carefully, he removed his
glove. His nerve ends were long dead, the pain excised. Only the
sight of raw skin and the stink of charcoal and burnt flesh
remained.

His thoughts strayed back to
his family and the happiness he'd lost. Too many fires raged out
there in the darkness. Too many dancing flames to steal away people
like Sonya and Amy.

It was cold comfort but one
less fire would burn tonight.

* * *

Firewall

I'm a hacker. No, that's not
quite right. I used to be a hacker. There was nothing better than
invading the whole damn web with a made-to-order über virus. I was
responsible for the tyck-tock virus, the one that brought down the
World Bank and Microsoft servers for three days. Pulling down
Microsoft gave me some serious cred. I was a freaking God-damn
legend after that.

My latest virus was IcE Maiden.
I was on top of the world when I released that little baby on the
unsuspecting public. My main targets are always the big boys. The
idea of shoving it up corporate America gets me off every time I
think about it. I'd love to see their dopey faces when some
dickless IT manager says "Yeah, we have a virus" and then has no
friggin' idea what to do about it.

IcE Maiden was my greatest
creation. A true masterpiece. Once that baby hit your hard drive,
it was all over. Your computer would freeze and a little piece of
my own personal wisdom would pop up on the screen. No matter how
many times you rebooted, the damn message wouldn't go away. It then
replicated, sending itself to everyone in your email address book.
I've found out the virus was a mega-success. It took the world's
best brains almost three weeks to come up with a workable patch to
fix it. I heard my Maiden even messed up the anti-virus
corporations. Home freakin' run.

I laughed as best I could when
I heard that. I always target them first. If you take those guys
down, it means your virus stays in circulation longer. A lot of the
banks had trouble with it. I even heard the Japanese government
crashed for a couple of days when IcE Maiden hit.

Sometimes I wonder, as I get to
do a hell of a lot these days, what sorta stuff they say about my
viruses in other countries. Do they even call it IcE Maiden in
Japan? Maybe they translate it to something like 'Young woman
standing in snow'? The thought cracks me up.

I saw some of
the press clippings on the net shortly afterwards.
I'm glad the Western world got the name right at
least. I remember another freelancer, by the name of WackyDuck,
released a kick-butt virus that did some major global
damage.

His virus was called Big Boa.
The media screwed up and some wise guy went all religious with it.
They called it the Serpent virus, and started all sorts of fun and
games with prophecies and finger-pointing. I thought it was a hoot.
The apocalypse---now on your PC! WackyDuck never lived it down. Even
those in our little community started calling him a religious
freak. My point is, you're never the master of what you unleash.
You just hope it goes the way you planned.

I think it was a reaction to
WackyDuck's experience, cos I remember scouring the new age and
religious newsgroups and mailing lists. I found as many emails as I
could and then unleashed IcE Maiden on 'em. It was a long list,
with emails from hundreds of lists from all over the world. They
wanted apocalypse through the internet, I'd give it to 'em.

You know when you're looking at
email addresses and some seem really familiar? It's almost like
dejá-vu. Well, when going through the occult newsgroups, I came
across an email address that practically burned itself into my
eyes.

Hell, it wasn't even the
address, it was the word.

Malephagia.

I didn't know what it meant.
Yet I recognised it, like I'd seen it before but couldn't
remember.

As I hovered my mouse over the
email address, something in my head told me to delete it from the
list. I even started to. Then sense kicked in and I moved on.

#

Long slender fingers, concealed
within black velvet gloves, deftly played across the keyboard. The
rhythmic tapping of keys formed a strangely melodic tune that
filled the apartment. Arcane symbols, indecipherable to layman's
eyes, lined the screen in an complex yet ornate arrangement.

Twin tanks flanked the
computer---itself a sleek black machine that purred in accordance to
its master's desires. The tanks were connected to the hard drive by
serpentine plastic tubes. These tubes, filled with amber liquid
pulsing from the nearby tanks, snaked into the hard drive case and
circled back again, forming a closed circuit.

Floating at
the centre of each tank, akin to monstrous test-tubes, were
foetus-like creatures. They were vaguely human yet
wrong
, drifting in the
cloudy ochre fluid---nine inches of wrinkled pink flesh bobbing in
artificial wombs.

The melodic typing continued
its song until a warning flashed up in bold, red letters, bordered
on every side by an array of runic characters.

Virus Detected. Designation:
IcE Maiden.

For seconds, the screen
remained unresponsive, despite repeated tapping at the keyboard.
Another message flashed on screen but only for an instant. It
wavered and vanished before it could be read. The keyboard returned
to life, as further keystrokes were converted to symbols in the
on-screen document.

One of the foetuses convulsed
as the hard drive whirred into automated life, sucking and
recycling the greasy fluid from the tanks. The hybrid machine
clicked over for long seconds, syphoning through the amber liquid.
The symbiote foetuses drew more orange fluid in hungry,
synchronised gulps, returning it in bubbles and dark ochre
dribbles.

A final message appeared
on-screen, surrounded by assorted runes.

Counter-measures initiated.
Destination: 'Sabre' - IP 203.198.66.4.

A throaty laugh echoed through
the apartment.

#

Nothing in my life could ever
prepare me for what came next.

A few hours later, I get this
weird message on my computer. That took me totally by surprise.

Doing what I do, by definition
I have to have the very best filters and firewalls in the game. The
community is pretty tight but wars between hackers can be deadly.
Turning our virtual arsenals on each other is a nasty business, so
protection comes in spades.

So on the screen was this
freaky message. I don't know to this day how he did it, but the
words were flaming. Not like your usual animation-type stuff, I
mean like they were really on fire. The windows and icons on my
desktop caught fire on screen. The desktop images inside the
monitor---on the screen---were burning. It was awesome.

The message
read:
Your virus has been detected and
destroyed on contact. You are now infected by Malephagia Firewall
counter-protection.

I was stunned. In my years of
hacking, I'd never seen anti-virus protection like this before. The
whole damn screen was on fire, but the message burnt brightest,
right in the centre.

I sat there hypnotised,
watching my desktop image---a half-naked supermodel sunbathing next
to a swimming pool---get slowly eaten by the flames. When the water
in the pool started bubbling, I thought I was going crazy.

Before my eyes, the face of the
burning girl twisted into a contorted scream.

I freaked.

I put my hands to the keyboard
and was jolted by a flash of searing heat and pain in my fingers. I
was thrown backwards. It was like a massive electrical shock. The
smell of burnt flesh and plastic filled the room.

It took me a long time to
recover. I just stood there watching the screen blaze.

The bikini model soon crumpled
into a blackened skeleton. All my icons were now little squares of
ash dotted around the screen. Yet the burning message remained.

Very carefully, I touched one
of the keys, trying to make the message disappear. Heat welled up
from my finger and the whole keyboard shot up in flames. Snatching
my hand back, I then grabbed at the monitor, trying to move it out
of the fire's path. The plastic under my hand smouldered for an
instant then the monitor exploded in a fireball, showering glass
fragments all over my room.

I panicked, reaching for my
half-empty Coke to pour over the computer. The can melted with a
loud pop, spilling scalding drink all over my desk. Despite the
eruptions of heat and fire, my hands were mostly unscathed.

Downstairs, I heard my parents
shout my name. They probably heard the monitor explode. Panicked
and confused, I stumbled back, collapsing onto my bed. All I could
do was sit on the edge of my bed and freak out, watching the flames
rise out of what used to be my state-of-the-art computer.

Not knowing what to touch, I
slumped into myself, cupping my head in my hands. That was my
mistake.

The heat was excruciating. I
screamed and flailed for what seemed hours. I clawed at myself,
trying to put out the intense fire consuming my body. More pockets
of fire erupted every time I touched the sheets. It was a
nightmare. I was burning alive.

My parents barged through the
door. I grabbed at Dad in desperation. His sleeve shot up in
flames. The whole room became an inferno. Dad beat at his arm as he
pulled away from me. Mum disappeared, leaving the two of us to
burn.

She returned seconds later and
smothered my body with a blanket. I screamed and screamed. It was
unbearable. The last thing I saw was Dad ripping his jacket off and
throwing it to the floor. At least he got off lightly.

#

The black keyboard stood
temporarily abandoned as the entombed foetuses stared into
nothingness. The amber fluid in their hooked-up tanks had clouded
from the recent activity. Between them, the computer lay idle in
stand-by mode---a predator at rest between kills.

Behind the carpet of darkness
that served as screen saver, a data log automatically generated by
the computer waited for the master's return.

At the top of the log, amid
time, date, and server data, stood waiting to be read:

Target 'Sabre' (IP
203.198.66.4).

Malephagia Firewall v1.1
successfully uploaded.

Dozens of other nicknames and
addresses trailed below.

#

I spent two months in Stratton
Memorial following 'the incident'. They said I died during the
first operation; that my heart stopped for thirteen seconds. I went
through six more operations before they'd even considered releasing
me. My body is a pathetic withered blister; one giant scab.

I've been in the rehabilitation
wing of the Feldman centre now for about nine weeks. I wear a full
body pressure suit that's supposed to be cutting edge medical
technology. I hang by slings like a mummy on wires. They're trying
to get me to move, in case my muscles atrophy. Hell, I didn't move
much when I wasn't all burnt up, so I figure what's the difference.
They say I was lucky to live. Can't see the difference there
either.

I'll never be able to touch
anything ever again. Ever.

Despite the rehab, despite the
pain, despite everything, there is one thing that keeps me
going.

I have the bastard's email
address, and the hope to track him down. I also have those words,
still seared into my mind.

You are now infected by
Malephagia Firewall counter-protection.

* * *

Smouldering Eyes

I only ever wanted to be
noticed. To feel attractive. It was a simple, heartfelt wish. To
undo the misery of my bland face and stringy hair. To be
beautiful.

Now, every guy who catches my
eye ignites with desire. The acrid smells of burnt flesh and the
agonised screams are seared into my memory.

I just asked the genie for
smouldering eyes.

* * *

Shadow of Revenge

"Fight me, you skinny little
fuck!"

The muffled
thud of dance music, filtering from the nearby club,
Drakken
, adds rhythm to
Derek's step as he strides forward.

"Go fuck y'self," the other guy
spits. Flecks of blood and saliva fly from his mouth, landing on
Derek's boots. Unintentional, but it pisses Derek off.

"You're gonna pay for that,
shitbag."

The weary expression on the
guy's face---he didn't catch his name---says everything that needs to
be said. The skinny runt is afraid yet defiant.