Authors: R.J. Henry
Agent Myers placed his phone inside
his blazer after receiving the expected message
from Brinks.
The Renegade.
Their newly acquired
name left him with an unsettling twist in the pit
of his stomach. What he couldn’t get past was
their need to wear masks. Let alone ski masks
as a choice.
The sight will cost them their lives.
Of course, he didn’t intend on tolerating much
from a delinquent bunch like them.
I’m the only
one who gives a damn about this project
. Either
way, his determination supersedes anyone’s
lack of faith in the making of the New World.
The lake passed him by. It glistened on
the surface, reflecting the orange glow of the
sun. He could hear the imaginary
cur-plunk
noises as the fish broke the surface of the water
with their tail fins.
He looked through his rearview mirror,
examining his tight-lipped smile. A single dimple rested on his left cheek. He didn’t quite like
to seem pleasant. He pressed his lips into a
slight frown, to appease the look that gives him
power over his victims’ eyes. The fear upon
them drove him. Their soul evading their life
somehow made him happy. Maybe it was the
fading color in their complexion, or the fact that
he could get away with it.
He shrugged in his deep contemplation,
focusing his attention on the situation at hand.
He pulled into the driveway. Two out of
the three black jeep’s sat beside him. To his
right, the transport bus hummed. The driver
tipped his hat. Behind the gated windows were
the lab-grown Fledges, ready to be taken to
Meriden. Myers nodded to the driver. He wore
dark shades; Myers looked at the man, wondering what he could be hiding. The sun moved
lower, to a point that made sunglasses irrelevant.
He shook his head, and relieved his car
from his weight, letting the inconspicuous man
slide this time.
He walked in, seeing Rachel and David
standing beside the line of monitors. In her
hands was a tiny notepad and pen. She scribbled furiously as David unsteadily named off the
Fledge batch numbers off a clipboard. They kept
to themselves, unaware of his presence.
His husky voice broke the silence.
“Where is George?”
David jumped, dropping the clipboard.
His fingers fumbled to retrieve it from the
ground. The color of his pupils took over the
parts of his eyes that were once blue. Myers
frowned at his appearance.
Rachel, however, remained still. His
presence didn’t startle her. She peered up from
the brim of her glasses. “He’s out. David, here,
decided to eat all of the food.”
David laughed. “Ah, well… You know.”
His body twitched with each word.
Myers hummed. “Found a new addiction, eh? Got tired of loan sharks, decided to try
your luck at drug lords now?”
He scratched his nose. “Nah. Nope.”
He stepped towards the squeamish
man as he gulped air, shifting in place. “You
know,
David
, I’m not particularly fond of being
lied to.”
David shifted his weight between his
feet, laughing nervously. “No. I wouldn’t… I’m
not lying to you. Ever. Promise.”
Myers flared his nostrils, nodding. He
turned on his heels, now facing away from him.
With a tautness in his voice, he said, “Okay.”
With wide eyes, Rachel glimpsed over
at David who rested his ample chin inside his
palm. She continued to stare at him, disbelieving he would lie the way he did.
He leaned towards her. “
What? He
doesn’t have to know.
”
“
Yes, yes he does.
”
Myers revealed his gun to himself. He
whipped it around, aiming the barrel at David.
It pointed straight between his eyes, freezing
him like an ice sculpture.
A bullet flung from its home, making its
way to its new destination. David didn’t have
time to react. The last thing he said was, “Oh
sh—” Unable to finish the last word, he was cut
off by the splat his forehead made.
He placed his gun back into its holster.
He laughed. “Heh. I guess that loan shark will
be disappointed that I beat him to the punch.”
Rachel’s face flushed, as her eyes darted
at him.
He ignored her eminent glare, examining the line of blue capsules on the wall. Beneath
their oval shape were tiny, digitized, screens.
Some were off; others led a series of numbers.
“When will all of these be completed?”
“Their due dates are beneath them, on
the screens; month, month. Day, day. The fourdigit year follows after that.”
He tapped a blank screen, under what
appeared to be a baby marsupial. “What about
the ones that aren’t working?”
She chuckled, enjoying his idiocy excessively much. She attempted to speak with easy
words. “If you would use that little noggin on
your shoulders, you’d know that they didn’t survive the tests. Only the human gene combines
perfectly with the CBH virus.”
He cocked his head in annoyance. “You
just witnessed what lying makes me do. You
want to press your luck with that attitude,
Missy
?”
“It’s Rachel,” she said, and then scoffed,
“and yes. Because what is being done here is
wrong and immoral. We are not God, why play
his part?”
“You want to talk morals, now? Heh, so
you killing your father wasn’t immoral?”
“He
was a killer
you, asshole!”
“Okay, what about what you did to
Emily? Is planting her with a tracking device,
designed as a phone, not immoral? How about
stealing her eggs? Was that not immoral?”
Rachel pressed her lips into a tight ‘O’.
“Huh?” he said, echoing his voice
throughout the building.
“Under the order of Boss, we had to.”
“Oh, so when someone says it’s okay to
do it, then it is no longer immoral?” He rubbed
his gun to his chin. He looked down at its steel.
“Huh?”
“How is what I have done, in the past,
any different than what you did do to Emily way
before this plan even became an idea?”
“I did nothing to her,” he scoffed.
He squinted an eye at her. “What exactly do you think you know?”
“Oh don’t play coy. You got her removed from the force. And by the looks of you,
I bet it was to continue some love affair.” She
looked him up and down, but his face didn’t
waiver in emotion. He continued to keep a
stone-like stare.
He chuckled with a half-smile. The sudden change in his face made Rachel
back away. “Of course. My love affair of
the New World.” He cackled nervously.
Rachel grinned out of the corner of her
mouth. She lowered her face, keeping her gaze
on him. She knew she got him now. “No, no. An
actual
affair.”
His face tightened, showing wrinkles
within his frown. He knew she was right. But he
refused to give her that power over him.
“You are a dick. A cheater and a liar.”
She spat on the floor towards his black, leather,
shoes. “You are as filthy as the ground a dog
shits on.”
His clenched fist shook. The vein in his
neck throbbed. He stabbed his finger into her
clavicle. He said, “As your superior, I demand,
that if you wish to live, you shut the hell up. You
do not know anything of which you speak!”
For a moment, she stood in silence. She
contemplated his intentions. She assumed he
was lying to her. She matched his stance, and in
a hushed tone, she said, “Make me.”
He pressed the cold barrel into her sternum. Her breath slowed.
She gripped his wrist, to keep him
steady. “Pull it. Pull the trigger. I dare you. Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell Emily everything.”
Without hesitation, three shots flew
out, dropping her next to David. “Now, who are
you going to squeal to?”
He huffed, and lifted his chin to secure
his tie. The lifeless gaze the two bodies gave
him, made him feel exuberant, but the mess
made his tie seem unruly.
George came through the door, bumping into Myers’ shoulder. He seemed to be in
rush, as his feet were moving faster with each
step until he finally sprinted into a jog towards
his car. He drove off.
George shook his head. “Hey guys, I’m
back! So why were the dogs here?”
He dropped the small sack at the sight.
He jumped to their sides, checking for pulses.
Beads of water streamed down the corner of his
eyes. He shrank back, and sat on his heels.
Without moving his head, he eyed Agent Myers’
fleeing vehicle. He clenched his fists, wishing he
would have bumped into the bastard a little bit
harder. Or, at least, hard enough to make the
killer spin his head into the door frame, knocking him out. George would make him sleep with
the fishes.
He let out an echoing growl. “Ahhh! I
will
kill you, Agent Myers. You’re a dead man!”
He knew the threat was impenetrable to his target’s ears, but it will not be unknown for long.
He sat beside their bodies, praying for them.
“Please, have safe travels my friends. I promise
you will be redeemed.”
A consistent beeping noise caught his
attention; a location update on Emily’s device
popped up on one of the monitors. He creased
his brows, but decided against checking it out in
depth. At least, not until he is able to bury his
friends.
He clicked the switch that powered the
Fledge Pods; killing the remaining ones. “
No
more... no more playing God
!” His fist flew into
one, shattering its supposed bulletproof glass.
•••
Agent Carlson rested his eyes upon the chipped,
blue siding house. Twenty years ago, he had
married in that very yard. Two years after the
wedding, he had become a proud father. The
spring before Katie’s terminal diagnosis, he remembers teaching her how to pitch a tent. It
wasn’t long after that he woke up one morning
to her not responding to his everyday bacon and
eggs.
He banged his head on the steering
wheel, holding his breath to fight off the memories.
It’s okay, I’m okay
, he thought to himself.
He knew it wasn’t true, but needed to
give his family a final resting spot. Leaving them
on the floor filled him with regret. Seeing his
wife, lie dead against his daughter, scared him.
He hopes it was just a dream. That once he
walks in there, dinner would be cooked and his
daughter would be waiting for a bedtime story.
He sighed, and headed towards the
agape door. With a settled house, and settled
marriage, he refused to settle for anything less
than allowing his family to decompose on the
very threshold, he carried Christine through on
the day of their wedding.
He pushed the door open. Below from
where he stood, the floor was vacant. He walked
around the living room, spinning around in
freight.
The bodies were gone
. He became so incased for the search of his family, that the tires
crackling the gravel in his drive way did not
catch his attention. He checked the entire
house, and returned back to the foyer.
Brinks stood by the door, waiting for
him to notice her. She cleared her throat. “Why
are you here?”
“Where are they? Where are the bodies?”
She sighed. “I didn’t want—”
“Where, the hell, are they?”
“I had a crew dispose of them.”
“They deserve more than whatever the
hell you are doing to them.”
“A burial?” she rhetorically asked. “So
everyone will know you shot your daughter?”
He didn’t know what she was headed
for. He deepened his voice, gripping her shoulders. “Bring them back!”
“Forget it! Now step off me,” she demanded.
He pulled a gun to her temple.
No more
of this shit,
he thought to himself. He placed his
finger on the trigger. “My name is Jack, you
bitch! Now tell me where they are!”
“No. You are my agent, now, unless you
plan on pulling that trigger, I suspect you better
put it where it belongs.”
He stared at the short barrel. “You’re
right. I’m not like you. I don’t kill people for the
hell of it,” he said, turning it towards his heart.
“It belongs here.”
“Drop it, now.”
He shakenly held it tighter to his chest.
His face turned red, as drops of regret streamed
down his face. “No.”
She egged him on. “Then do it. Pull it.
You’re a wuss, and you know it.”
He did it. He pulled the trigger on himself. But, to his demise, only the click of an
empty cartridge sounded. He looked down at
the gun. “What the hell?”
“As my partner, I may trust you to not
get me killed. But in order to ensure that you
would not kill me, I never allowed you more
than one bullet a year.”
He tossed the gun off to the side. It
pounded against the floor, rocking on its handle
until it finally tipped over. She kicked it off to
the side. “Now come on. We have work to do.”
“No, I don’t. I am no longer your underdog,” he said, fleeing the house.
She pointed her gun at him. “You will
be killed if you desert this plan.”
Throwing his hands up into the air, he
said, “Kill me then. What reason is there for to
live anymore?”
She held the gun between her hands.
However, she didn’t shoot; only aimed. She
knew he had no other family, nor did she allot
any time for him to gain any friends. This job
was time consuming enough, just for her.
She allowed him to drive away in one
piece. With a whisper, she said, “You’re free.
Now nothing holds you back.” She turned back
into the house. “Except for me,” she said, dialing
a number on her phone.
The other end rang three times before a
man’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“Yes, this is Agent Brinks.”
“What do you need me to do now?”
“I need you to stake out Emily’s house.
She needs to be found.”
“How do you know she will be back?”
“Just be there.”
•••
George walked into the Crum O’ Slap Bar. The
thick smog of cigarette smoke filled the air,
mixed with the potent scent of alcohol. The ambience relaxed his eyes, easing the tension he recently acquired. The sound of eighties music fell
into the background, and it didn’t help any. He
preferred smooth rock versus the migraine inducing rock.
Two grown men, fists flying through the
air at each other was enough to edge him the
wrong way. Typically, he ignored the average
bar fight. However, this one in particular was
between a stranger and someone he knew.
For a moment, he felt relieved to see
someone he might know. But, seeing as that
Jack’s wobbling stance was making him lose,
George stepped in.
He stood between Jack and the other
guy, placing his palms on both of their chests.
He flexed, managed to keep them separate.
“Hey! C’mon, guys!”
“Is this your buddy?” the other man
slurred.
“It don’t matter whose
buddy
I am.”
“Tell that little pip-squeak that he
needs to keep his mouth shut, then.”
George eyed the different sizes between
them, and realized he must’ve been talking
about Jack. This man had a beard trim like
some bounty hunter, with a port belly sticking
out under his shirt.
“What did he say to you?”
“He called me Ms. Piggy’s Daddy.” Despite his rugged-biker look, his eyes twinkled
with a shimmer of sadness.
“Jack,” George turned, “did you say
that?”
“What’ch’it, to ya?”
“Look, um…”
“Sue,” the man said, entering his name.
“Really? Ok… Look, my friend here is
not in his right mind. Please excuse him. I’m
sorry.”
Sue spat at Jack’s feet. “Fine,” he gruffly
said, walking away.
George cleaned off Jack’s shoulder
from unknown debris, then sat him down at the
bar. He sighed heavily, heaving out a frustrated
breath as if he were a parent of two misbehaved
children that did not get along at recess.
Jack was loud with incoherent bellows.
The gorgeous bartender, however, nodded and
smiled. George felt she was polite, despite having a bullring piercing. He didn’t judge. Nor did
he feel like it was his responsibility to judge.
That’s not how he was raised.