Newt Run

Cab; safe house; Ward

  Auld kicks idly at the nearest a'the two men and then bends down ta examine his head, but as far as I can see there's no sign a' blood. I help Tam ta his feet and he shrugs off my arm, coughin, and spittin up bile.

  "I can stand," he says, and then promptly doubles over, supportin himself with his hands on his knees.

  "Auld what is this..." I manage.

  "We have to get out of here."

  "Where's J?"

  "Don't worry."

  He leaves the alley and I've got no choice except ta follow after him, half-draggin and half-supportin Tam with my arm around his shoulders.

  "Where are we goin?"

  "Not far," says Auld.

  We turn onta Nascent and Auld instructs me ta hail a cab. When one finally stops the three a'us pile in. Tam's head rolls back on his neck, his eyes foggy with water.

  "South," says Auld and I pass the information along ta the driver. The cab pulls away from the curb and I look back, but there's no sign a'the men in goggles or anyone else.

  "Auld what was that?" I say.

  "Told you, the Institute."

  "Those boys were scientists?"

  "Agents," he responds. The cab driver looks at me in the rearview mirror.

  "You talkin ta me?" he asks.

  "No," I say. "Forget it."

  I shut up and stare out the window. Around 3rd Bridge Auld has me instruct the driver ta stop in front of a mid-sized apartment. I pay the fare and we get out a'the cab, passin quickly inta the deserted lobby. Auld leads us ta the elevator and presses the button for the 12th floor. Tam lets go a'my arm and sits down with his back pressed ta the wall and his head in his hands.

  "Who's place is this?" I ask, but Auld doesn't bother ta answer. At length the doors open and I haul Tam up. We make our way ta a room at the end of a carpeted hallway. Auld takes a key card from his pocket and unlocks the door, holdin it open for us ta enter.

  "Where's the bathroom?" Tam croaks.

  "Down the hall on the right," says Auld. Tam rushes off, and a second later I hear him retchin inta the toilet.

  "You alright?" I call. He grunts a response, which I guess is good enough, and I move with Auld ta the living room. There's barely any furniture, just a white couch and two chairs gathered around a low table, as well as a counter that separates the room from the kitchen. The paint on the walls is an immaculate egg-shell white, and the hardwood floors are free a'any scuff-marks or stains. There's no sign that anyone lives here, the place more like a showroom than an apartment.

  Auld motions me ta the couch.

  "Coffee?" he asks, walkin ta the kitchen. I sit down, wishin I had a smoke, or a drink, or both.

  "Tam how you holdin up in there?" I call. There's no answer.

  "Auld, check on him huh?" I say.

  "He's passed out."

  I close my eyes and rub them with the flat a'my hand; I'm exhausted, and gettin up from the couch is harder than it has any right ta be. When I reach the bathroom I find Tam sprawled on the floor with his arms around the toilet.

  "Come on," I say, and somehow I get him ta his feet. Auld directs me ta a bedroom where Tam instantly collapses onta the cream-coloured sheets, curlin inta a ball. He waves me away with a weak motion a'his arm, and I leave him where he is. In the livin room Auld is waitin for me with a pair a'mugs and a pot a'coffee.

  "I'm sorry there's no milk," he tells me.

  "I could use somethin harder."

  "There's just the coffee."

  I run my hand through my hair, releasin a long, slow breath. Auld stares inta his mug.

  "You knew I wouldn't listen," I say.

  "Yes," Auld replies tiredly. There are dark smudges under his eyes and his skin is the colour of wax. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.

  "But you warned me anyway."

  "Seemed like the thing to do."

  I study him, his drawn, expressionless face, and the line that cuts his eye; I've never known Auld, never been able tell what he's thinkin, but the fact that he somehow has access ta an apartment like this shouldn't come as a surprise – for all I know he could own the buildin. I recall the utterly casual way he brought down two men with a bottle a'whiskey, how he appeared at the exact moment I needed him, and suddenly understand that nothin that's gone on tonight, maybe nothin that's happened since the day we met, has been random. He wanted things ta play out exactly the way they did, the deal ta go sour and Tam ta get fried. The only question is why.

  "You put me in that alley," I say.

  "I never told you to go there."

  "But you could've stopped me."

  He shakes his head.

  "It was always going to be that way."

  A part a'me feels like arguin but I'm too tired ta think straight, and nothin I'm likely ta say will make a difference anyway. Instead I stretch my legs out beneath the table and close my eyes.

  "You didn't kill those guys did you?" I ask, after a time.

  "No."

  "That's good," I say, for lack of anythin better, and then I look up: Auld is bent over almost double with his head in his hands, the coffee untouched on the table in front a'him.

  "Where's J?" I ask.

  "In the hospital."

  I stare at the top a'his head.

  "Why is J in the hospital?"

  "He got hurt."

  "How's that?"

  "He tried to get in the way of the agents. They tasered him. Someone called for an ambulance and there was nothing I could do about it. He'll be released in the morning."

  "We've got ta get him now."

  "No we don't."

  "And what if those boys find him before we get there?"

  "They won't."

  "Don't give me that." I can feel my voice risin, the night's tension and stress spillin out at last, thick as burnt grease. Auld refuses ta look at me.

  "They've got problems of their own right now. I saw to that."

  "You think a bump on the head's gonna stop boys like that from gettin at J if they want him?"

  "They won't arrive at the hospital until two o'clock tomorrow afternoon, and by then J will be gone."

  I'm about ta respond when Auld gets ta his feet, cuttin me off.

  "They're here," he says, just as the sound of a knock comes from the door; a shiver makes its way down the back a'my neck. Auld moves ta the front hall and ushers two men inta the apartment. Like him, they sport lines on the right side a'their faces, thin, purple bars that cut them from forehead ta cheek. Both a'them are dressed in cheap track suits, one red and the other gray.

  "This is Ward," Auld announces. The man in red nods briefly. "And Irbe."

  The one in gray waves at me.

  "Nice ta meet you," I say dryly. Ward smiles, an action of his mouth that doesn't make it as far as his eyes. He is a big man, with a hard, dark face. The line, which on Auld is the mark of something alien, appears natural on him, more like a tattoo or a scar suffered in childhood. In contrast, Irbe is smaller, with stooped shoulders and a nervous, fidgety way a'movin. Neither a'them inspire much confidence, and for a moment I'm aware that with Tam passed out in the back, I am very much alone here.

  "This is who's buying your powder." Auld's voice is bland, as if he's announcin the time a'day or the state a'the weather.

  "What?" I hear myself ask.

  "The powder you sell to Tam. Ward and Irbe are your buyers in the capital."

  "You two?"

  The one called Irbe shrugs, and sits down on the couch. The other, Ward, regards me coolly.

  "What do you know about the Institute?" he says.

  "I know it's in the capital," I answer, glancin at Auld. "And that they're buyin up all the powder they can, and that two of their boys tasered my fuckin friends tonight. What do you know about it?"

  "They don't like us," he replies.

  "Not much," Irbe agrees, smilin.

  "That all?"

  "They've been studying us for some time," a
nnounces Auld. Ward shoots him a sharp look, but a moment later he relaxes, spreadin his hands like none a'this has anythin ta do with him.

  "They don't want us here," Auld continues. "Or anyway they don't want us moving around freely. They definitely don't want you interacting with us. One of the reasons they buy so much powder is to stop people from using it."

  "We think they might be trying to develop a vaccine," says Irbe.

  "A vaccine?"

  "To block the powder's effects and keep us invisible. Our being here scares them."

  "We've been buying as much powder as we can, through you, and we've been getting it to as many people as we can," Irbe says. "The Institute doesn't like that."

  "Which is why we've got Auld here keeping an eye on you," adds Ward.

  "That was kind," I say.

  "Isn't it?"

  "So why doesn't the Institute just close the mine? They want ta stop people gettin at the powder, that's the easiest way ta do it."

  "We don't know," says Irbe. "Maybe they don't have the authority. No one seems to know who's in charge here."

  "They might even have found a way to reach our side."

  "Your side?"

  "To cross over."

  "That right?"

  "Yes. Through the mines."

  "The mines are important," says Irbe. "There's a reason no one's ever found powder anywhere else."

  "So just head up there and have a look," I say. "You're invisible."

  "Their goggles."

  "How's that?"

  "They can see us with their goggles, and besides, you've been doing your work too well. By now, half the miners are using powder."

  Auld gets out a'his seat and moves ta the kitchen where he spends some time rootin through the cupboards.

  "Whatever they're doing, we plan on stopping them," says Irbe.

  "Well good luck ta you boys," I say.

  "Good luck to us."

  "Oh?"

  "You're going to help."

  "That right?"

  "Yes," says Auld, handin me a glass.

  "What's this?"

  "Whiskey," he says.

  "Said you didn't have anythin ta drink," I mutter.

  He shrugs.

  "I knew you'd need it now."

  I get out a'the shower and dry off, vaguely hungry, and pass inta the kitchen. Irbe and Auld are gone, but Ward is there, sittin by himself in the livin room. There is a cigarette burnin between his fingers, a thin trail a'smoke driftin from the end in a tight, blue-gray line.

  "Where is everyone?"

  "Had some things to do," he says.

  "What things?"

  He shrugs, and I decide ta leave it there.

  "You got anythin ta eat around here?" I ask.

  "No idea."

  I open the fridge, but all I find is a plastic jug half-full a'water, and in one a'the cupboards above the sink a container a'instant coffee and three unopened bottles a'whiskey.

  "How long you been dealing?" Ward asks from his place at the couch.

  "You a cop?"

  He looks up at me like I'm somethin he stepped on.

  "It's a joke," I tell him.

  "You don't want to answer the question?"

  "Not in particular, no."

  He nods and pours himself a shot a'whiskey. He sets what's left back on the table and considers his glass. I can't help but notice that durin the time I was in the shower, he's polished-off almost a third a'the bottle.

  "What's it like where you're from?" I ask him.

  "What's it like where you're from?" he counters.

  "The apartments aren't so clean."

  He snorts.

  "You people ask that question all the time."

  "Then here's another one: how'd you get here?"

  "That's the second thing people ask."

  "Indulge me."

  He nods again and knocks back the shot, and when he's finished with it he puts the glass down next ta the bottle. His hand is perfectly steady.

  "When I was in college I used to get drunk and break into construction sites," he says. I wait for him ta go on, and he seems ta pick up on my hesitation.

  "You asked, so I'm telling you. If it's not what you were expecting that's your problem."

  "Absolutely," I say, and make an attempt ta moderate my expression, killin any hint a'mockery or sarcasm. He regards me skeptically, and frownin, launches inta his story.

  "It was a habit. I'd go into the buildings at night, new office towers mostly, some housing projects. Usually I went alone, but once or twice with friends. Irbe's been up with me, and the last time I took my girlfriend. I'd been seeing her for the better part of a year. Shouldn't have taken her up there, but she insisted. There was this new condo they were putting up downtown, and the security wasn't what it should have been. There was a chain-link fence around the lot and a trailer with the logo of a private security firm on it, but there was no one in the yard and the lights in the trailer were off. The place looked deserted. So we scouted around a little and found a spot where the ground was low enough to climb under the fence. From there it was nothing to get inside.

  "It wasn't the tallest building I'd ever been in, but it was tall enough that halfway up we had to rest. We chose a room and sat down in front of a window that overlooked the street. Eventually this was going to be some rich man's bedroom, but at that time it was just a bare concrete block with dust on the floor. We sat there and got high. We'd already been drinking before we broke in, and this was a dumb fucking thing to do. It's something I regret."

  His words are measured, the way a man might recite a speech from memory, and as he speaks he looks straight at me, his voice as flat as his eyes. Somehow I get the feelin that he's makin this all up. There's no reason ta think so, but only this last point, that he regrets it, has any ring a'truth. That much at least is clear, the remorse settled on his shoulders like a shroud.

  "When we finished getting high we went back to climbing and we kept at it until the stairs ended," he continues. "Then we searched around for the crane. I'd been up a few of those in my time – they've got ladders inside them, and once you get on the arm there's a kind of metal walkway. Standing up there with nothing but a thin strip of metal between you and the pavement, 300 feet down, or 1000… it's hard to process. At the time, there's only the wind and the lights of the city, and a feeling like being cut out from the world. The vertigo and panic only come later, when you stop to remember it. At least that's how it was for me.

  "My girlfriend stood there and laughed, taking it in. That night the wind was bad, and it sent her hair flying. She had a camera with her and she spent awhile pointing it at the view, and me, and the arm of the crane. She was so intent on her pictures that she lost her footing, and fell backwards into the crane shaft.

  "I can still see her falling, her head cracking open on the railings on the way down, her limbs splayed out like a broken doll at the bottom, but that's not what happened. It's the image I've been left with, but not the truth. Don't ask me how that works, but in reality she just managed to catch herself with the back of her arms on the edge of the hole. I don't know how she did it. She even managed to kept her grip on the camera. I rushed to help her. She was shaking so badly she couldn't stand. I held her, and checked the underside of her arms, which were bleeding. We stayed like that for a while, until she was calm enough to make the trip down. It took us twice as long as it did coming up.

  "I thought we'd gotten away with something, but when we reached the ground a security guard was out in the lot. I pulled up, and my girlfriend asked what was wrong. The guard heard her, and he was on us in a second, demanding our I.D. and telling us to get out of the stairs. I could barely understand a word he said; I think it was only at that point that I realized how stoned I was. He asked for my name and I couldn't even think of a lie, so I got it into my head to run. Luckily my girlfriend had enough sense to follow me. We tore across the lot and dove under the fence. Next thing we're r
unning down the block, but she was hurt and couldn't keep up with me. I took her down an alley and we hid behind a dumpster. She had me examine the back of her arms, which were scraped raw, but it didn't look like she'd need a doctor. I was for going on, but she said she needed time. While we waited, I picked up a loose stone from the pavement and tossed it, watching as it sailed clean through the brick of the opposite wall."

  "How's that?" I ask, interrupting him.

  "It went through the wall," he repeats. "Not through a crack or a grating, but the wall itself, you understand? I got up and ran my hand over the bricks. A second later my girlfriend was up and helping me."

  "Helping you what?"

  "Find the hole," he says. "The way here."

  "And that's how you got here, a hole in a wall?"

  He shrugs.

  "You expect me ta believe that?"

  "Believe whatever you want. There were plenty of people back on my side who didn't, but that didn't stop me from getting here. Nothing was official yet, but everyone had heard the stories. The holes had been cropping up for years. Holes or gateways, whatever you want to call them. People had gone missing. I had a friend who crossed over. Where he is now I couldn't tell you."

  "So you went through, just like that?"

  "Does it sound easy? A hole in the fucking world? My girlfriend's arm went clean into a brick, swallowed to the elbow. That was enough for her. She had me take her home in a cab. On the way back I talked about it, us crossing together, but she refused. She wanted to forget the whole night, both her fall and stumbling across the hole. In her mind, the two things were connected. She said she didn't catch herself just to disappear. But I wouldn't listen, and in the end I came here alone."

  "Why?"

  "Why's the real trick isn't it?" he says, and then he looks down, his mouth curlin inta the semblance of a smile.

  "You miss her?" I ask him.

  "What the fuck do you think?" he says, and that seems ta be the end a'the conversation.