Flesh Blood Steel Page 2

  Strong hands grasped his shoulders, sliding him headfirst from the car, face up. Several people held him at the head, each arm, and each leg. None of them looked like cops or EMTs or even fire fighters. They looked like vagabonds, all dressed in several layers of gray or blue cloth for shirts and blouses and jeans that were work weary and stained.

  “Were you all at the intersection?” Jake stared around at his rescuers, his brows drawn down in confusion. He had never seen even one person at the stop sign before today.

  “No more questions for now. We need to get you inside.” It was Anya’s voice again. She was holding his injured right arm. He turned to find an olive-skinned girl of probably sixteen or seventeen with long, curly black hair, and eyes so brown they looked almost black. She wore the same sort of outfit as everyone else, except her blue shirt was really a dress that hung to her ankles.

  “My mom’s still in the car. Did you get her already?” Jake tried to keep his voice steady against his fear and worry, but it wavered despite his best efforts.

  “No one else was in there with you,” Anya said without looking at him as they crossed a street.

  “You’re wrong. She was with me when the truck hit us.” Jake craned his neck far as he could, straining to get a glimpse of his mother’s ruined car.

  The wreck still burned, flames licking up from its roof and hood. But though the mangled metal and rapidly melting plastic was hardly recognizable as a car at all, it had clearly never been his mom’s Honda Civic. This car was black, not blue, with wheels far too large for a Japanese sub-compact. The wheels caught his attention. They had no spokes or hub he could see. In fact, Jake couldn’t make out where the wheels even attached to the body, since they seemed to have no discernable axle. Other oddities only confirmed Jake’s impossible surmise. Like this vehicle’s razor-sharp aerodynamics. Looking at the thing made Jake feel like he was staring at a far-future space fighter not a used budget car so vanilla you couldn’t find it in a mall parking lot.

  Scoping out the car drew Jake’s attention to his surroundings. He definitely wasn’t back in Lucas Falls, South Carolina. Skyscrapers loomed over the nearby street. They looked like tenement houses, a lot of ramshackle pre-fab materials banged together to form ten story apartment high rises. Plastics played a significant role in their construction. Spectators looked down on the streets from darkened windows.

  “Where am I?” Jake asked. “Where’s my mom?”

  No one seemed inclined to answer, so Jake shut his mouth. Something inside his head told him he wasn’t safe here, but that was probably just his nerves.

  His would-be rescuers carried Jake into a nearby building and up a short flight of stairs. Bystanders fled when they saw the group coming, locking their doors behind them.

  Jake tried to jerk his arms away from a gangly man and a weedy teenager on his left, but they held on tight.

  “You got him toned down, right?” the thin man asked. “I’m not getting my arm ripped out of the socket for this deal.”

  “Yes, now shut-up about it,” Anya said.

  “What does that mean? Toned down?” Had they drugged him? Was that why he felt no pain?

  Anya did something he could not see, and a door slid open behind her.

  The group, there were eight of them, hustled Jake through an echoing corridor and into an elevator. The place smelled dusty and old.

  “Should he be awake for this part?” asked one of the guys holding Jake’s right leg.

  “I’ve got sodium pentothal in my kit,” said the woman who had lifted the dash off Jake’s legs.

  “What are you talking about?” Jake asked. He struggled more, and Anya slapped his face. Hard. He might not have felt a thing from his arms and legs, but his cheek hurt. The stinging shock of the attack made his eyes water.

  “Shut it,” she said.

  “Holy crow, I think he’s gonna cry,” said one of the men, a mix of awe and laughter in his voice.

  Tears overflowed Jake’s eyes. He wanted to wipe them away, but these strangers had his arms. Wetness ran down the sides of his face as the elevator zoomed upward.

  He said no more as they hustled him along a hallway and into a small room where they placed him on what looked like a medical bed. Anya and the guy who had laughed at him strapped Jake to the bed with leather belts across his shins, hips, and chest. Then they secured his wrists with leather manacles attached to unseen anchors beneath the bed.

  “Please tell me what’s happening,” Jake said.

  “Is it a trick?” asked a man who hadn’t been at the crash site. The others scattered like mice to make way for him. He was black and huge. He stood probably 6’5” or 6’7” with sleeve-popping biceps, a chest like a seventy pound drum, and a face that had swallowed every smile that dared to crease it.

  Anya shook her head. “No. He has no idea what he’s doing here. I’m sure of it.”

  The big man grunted. “Do you recognize me, Harris?”

  “No sir.”

  The man’s eyes widened.

  “Is this some kind of gang? Am I—I mean are you going to hurt me?” Jake hated how small and frightened he sounded. Not that he could do anything about it.

  “What is the last thing you remember?” the big man asked.

  “We were hit by a truck, my mom and me. It ran the stop sign and smashed us. I don’t know what happened to her and I don’t know how I got here. What was I doing in that car—that wasn’t my mom’s car. And who are you?”

  The big man and Anya shared a look. Then he said, “My name is Andrew Moore, and to answer your question, I think you’re here to kill me.”

  Chapter 3

  Save

  “Will the cybrid restart on its own?” Moore spoke to Anya, but never took his eyes off Jake.

  “What are you talking about? What’s a cybrid?” Jake asked.

  “No,” Anya said. “And before you ask, I don’t want to put him out. That would probably bring it fully online. We’re not ready for that. These things have intricate fail safes and recovery protocols. We’re better off with him awake.”

  “Please.” Jake looked from Moore to Anya. “My mom. You said she wasn’t in the car, but do you know where she is? I don’t care about me, just make sure she’s okay.”

  Moore snaked a hand forward to grab Jake by the chin. “Listen, we don’t know anything about your mama, so quit bellyaching. You have no idea how close you are to death right now, and every pathetic word out of your mouth puts you one step closer. Got it?”

  Jake nodded and Moore released him.

  “Do what you gotta do, girl,” Moore said to Anya. “But make it quick. That thing ain’t my responsibility, and between you and me I’d just as soon chuck it in the landfill.”

  Jake’s stomach clenched at the big man’s words, but he remained quiet. Moore left the room and most of the others followed, though Anya remained.

  She peered at Jake for a long moment as if trying to divine something from his eyes. Apparently disappointed at what she found, she set about drying his cheeks and temples with a handkerchief. Then she lowered one of the bed’s siderails to inspect his burned arm. He could feel her moving it around, but the sensation was vague as if the entire limb had gone to sleep.

  Jake looked away. He didn’t want to see Anya or anyone from the gang that had abducted him. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to his mother. If she wasn’t in the car then where had she gone? And how had he ended up somewhere besides the intersection where the truck had hit them in a car he didn’t recognize?

  Had he lost his memory? That made some sense, but it certainly didn’t solve every problem in this jacked up situation. If he had lost time, then how did today’s wreck connect with the first? Just how much time had passed? And why were they people treating him like a captive?

  “You need to calm down.” Anya waved some sort of device over Jake’s head. It looked like a cell phone except it was far thinner than any model he had ever seen. “Your heartrate is elevated.”
>
  “Did you just tell me to calm down? Are you serious?” Jake ground his teeth, all his fear and frustration thrumming through him like discordant music. All at once, he strained against his bonds in a forlorn attempt at lifting his hands skyward. To his surprise the bed’s siderail groaned under with the sound of bending metal.

  Anya jumped in surprise. “Stop that.”

  Emboldened as much by her reaction to this small victory as to its success, Jake heaved again, this time twisting and punching, trying anything to squirm any part of himself free.

  One of the guys who had helped carry Jake into the building appeared at Anya’s side, his eyes wide with fear. Though he carried a sinister looking rifle over one shoulder, he made no move to unsling it. “What’s he doing?”

  “What’s it look like, moron?” Anya asked. “Help me hold him down.”

  “Screw that.” The guy backed away, his eyes wide, still acting as though he had no weapon.

  Jake continued pulling against his manacles. His muscles hardly felt the strain even as he poured on the power. Metal screamed underneath his bed as whatever anchors fastened the straps to the bed began to give way.

  “No. Stop that.” Anya lay across Jake’s arms, trying to press them down.

  No matter. Jake lifted her too. It must have been adrenaline. His heart thundered in his chest, he was breathing like a dryer set on high, and though he could hardly feel his arms, they were out of this world strong.

  “I thought you said he was toned down.” The guy with the gun didn’t come back into view, but it sounded like he was still in the room with Jake and Anya.

  “Jake,” Anya said, looking him square in the eyes, “Moore’s in the next room. He’s going to come back in here eventually, and when he sees what you’re doing he will kill you. Do you understand? No hesitation, no questions, just a bullet through your brain. You’ve got to control yourself.”

  Something popped beneath the bed, and the cuff on Jake’s injured arm came free trailing a long nylon band with a heavy duty buckle attached to the end.

  Anya drew back, terror in her eyes. She was shaking. “I’ll tell you everything. Answer all your questions: about your mother, where you’re at, who we are. Just stop. Please stop.”

  Jake stopped. He had been wrenching his left arm free, which was going much faster since he could use both hands. “Untie me.”

  “We can’t do that,” Anya said.

  Jake resumed pulling against the left cuff. The bed groaned.

  “Okay, okay! Just calm down, please.”

  “Now,” Jake said.

  The guy with the gun hadn’t left. He stood near the open doorway, ashen-faced, breathing hard. Why he hadn’t used his weapon, Jake couldn’t say, but he was glad for it.

  Anya leaned close. “Before I unstrap you, there’s something you should know.”

  “Straps first.”

  She shook her head. A few strands of her black hair, which had escaped their band, swung free. “No. Your head—your brain sort of—is attached to a machine behind you. I have to unhook that before you sit up. Otherwise, you’ll damage it and yourself.”

  “What? You’re lying.”

  “Touch it.”

  “I can’t feel anything with my hands.”

  Anya made a little sound in her throat as if in derision. “Sorry, forgot.” She looked around the room.

  “There’s a mirror,” said the guy.

  Anya pulled a mirror the size of a large clipboard from the wall and held it where Jake could see the space above his head. A series of blue, yellow, and gray wires protruded from what looked like a silver socket set into the center of his head at the crown.

  Jake jumped at the sight and drew in a horrified breath. “What is that?”

  “It’s you. You’re not human—not fully.”

  He stared at her, uncomprehending, stomach so tight it felt like he had swallowed a tube of tennis balls.

  “You’re a cyborg,” Anya said. “Though that’s not the right term. Really, you’re a cybrid—a human/android hybrid. Those wires are attached to a computer I’m using to help repair the cybernetic portions of your brain.”

  Jake had no words. His mind writhed like a worm on a hook. He stared into the mirror—his gaze tracing the plastic-coated wires protruding from his head—and he trembled.

  “I’ll release you, but you’ve got to let me detach these connections first, okay?” Anya said.

  Jake nodded once slowly. He only half heard her words.

  The guy with the gun sidled up to Anya. He tried to speak in a whisper, but the room was quiet and Jake heard everything he said. “I know you don’t want to disconnect him. Just shut him off or whatever. This ain’t worth it, sis.”

  “No,” whispered Anya just as low and just as audibly to Jake’s ears.

  “You know the roll, Ann. We cut our losses. We survive. What you’re trying to do here—this ain’t survival, it’s suicide.”

  “Got too much invested.”

  As they spoke, Jake felt that odd wrongness on his head once again. Something went ploink, followed by a soft whirring that spread across his scalp. It was like the mildest dentist’s drill on earth.

  “Done,” Anya said, her voice calm once again. She came around the bed and released Jake’s restraints one by one. All the while she watched him from the corner of her eye as if she expected him to leap up and throttle her.

  Jake tossed the belts aside and slid off the bed, putting it between him and his captors. He set his feet, ready for an attack, as he took in the situation and his physical condition.

  His thoughts felt strange. He narrowed his eyes, trying to put a name to the feeling, but couldn’t. Clarity, perhaps? Acute self-awareness? Whatever it was, it gave him insights he had never before experienced. Intrigued, he explored them by turns.

  Somehow, he knew without looking that his burns had healed, including those on his legs and face, even his arms. And he needed food. Healing the arm and other less grievous injuries had left him calorie deficient. His body had been forced to cannibalize muscle tissue when his fat and sugar reserves ran low. A meal with at least twenty grams of protein and plenty of water would replenish most of what he had used up.

  Jake felt his eyebrows bunch in surprise. “What did you do to me?”

  The answer came to him straightaway in marvelous clarity, long before Anya had a chance to respond. She had activated his cybrid.

  Anya held up both hands. “You’re going to feel a little strange at first. But if you remain calm like you promised, we’ll all be fine.”

  Jake tossed his head to one side then the other, eliciting a pleasant series of pops from his neck.

  Anya’s brother—Jake could see the resemblance now though he thought they might be only half siblings—took a reflexive step back. He still wasn’t pointing his rifle Jake’s way.

  Smart man.

  Of the two, Anya was obviously the greater threat. She looked fit and strong. By the set of her feet, her non-threatening yet readied hand position, and the way she had maneuvered her dominant side ever-so-slightly back from Jake, he could see that she had martial arts training. The patterns were consistent with a grappling style, which was smart for anyone, but especially a young woman who would most often need to defend herself against larger, stronger opponents. If it came to a fight, Jake would break her kneecap. He had no time for trading holds.

  “What?” Now it was Jake’s turn to take an involuntary step back. He fetched up against the wall without noticing. “Who’s in my head?”

  Anya licked her lips, an indication that she was deciding between lies or hard truths. “That’s you inside your head.”

  “You mean the cybrid.”

  She shrugged. “That’s like me saying, ‘I’m thinking with my brain.’ It’s my brain doing the thinking just like it’s your cybrid feeding you information.”

  “It says I can kill you both inside of fifteen seconds.”

  The brother flinched.


  Anya didn’t. She held Jake’s gaze. “It’s probably right. But is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Good. We don’t want to kill you either, or we would have left you in that burning car.”

  The car. It had been far more advanced than his mom’s old Civic. Jake thought back to his minutes spent in the flaming wreckage, and the images returned with vivid clarity. The interior was black and nearly devoid of instrumentation except for a large central console. Jake had only glimpsed it as Anya’s people dragged him from the car, but he recalled seeing a real time map pulsing on its flickering display. Green lines, obviously flight paths as evinced by the altitude markings, weaved through a sprawling metropolis marked The Bronx, New York. And next to that were the words Flight Mode: Disengaged.

  “I’m not sixteen, am I?” Jake asked slowly.

  Anya shook her head. “You’re twenty-nine. Though, you’re rapidly de-aging.”

  “I’m what?” Jake felt his eyes grow wide.

  “It’s part of your cybrid nanite pack. You’re able to grow younger or older within a pretty broad range. You can even alter your appearance when it’s called for.”

  “Not that! My age. I’m twenty-nine?”

  Anya nodded. The micro-creases on her brow, cheeks, and at the corners of her eyes indicated she was disgruntled by Jake’s focus on what she considered a non-topic. She preferred discussing the nanite pack.

  Screw that.

  “I can’t be twenty-nine-years old. What happened to the last thirteen years? Where have I been? Is my mother still alive? How can I find out?”

  “I don’t know everything about you,” Anya said. “But I do know that your cybrid believes you’re sixteen, same as your wetware, because you’re getting younger fast.”

  “Tiny robots are rearranging my cells?” Jake said slowly, the information filtering into his conscious thoughts the instant he considered them.