Oculus (Oculus #1) (12 page)

"He found himself understanding the wearisomeness of this life, where every path was an improvisation and a considerable part of one’s waking life was spent watching one’s feet." -
Lord of the Flies
by William Golding

I
NEVER REALLY APPRECIATED HOW
good I had it back when Anna was alive. For years, we had a great system in place. She would negotiate with the Resistance for jobs, and I would take out the targets. We had to move fairly regularly, but we had a pretty comfortable life. A life filled with stable work, decent food, passable shelter and plenty of books to read. The loss of that simpler existence is something I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on since her death.

Most of my waking hours are spent working or trying to find a decent place to sleep. It has become a lot harder as The Corps has really stepped up their security sweeps. Even in the remote, undeveloped areas between The Corps I have to cross over patrols. The Corp activity is my own fault. I have been taking almost every job I can get from The Resistance. Some of them are days apart, but running gives me time to unwind and plan my next move.

The Resistance has been overjoyed that I’m willing to accept almost any work they choose to offer me. My rates have become obscene, Anna would be proud, but they seem more than willing to pay. In the last few weeks I have done more to further their cause than I have in the last six months.

Two mid-level managers for Penar Corp won’t have the opportunity to skim rations from their sectors any longer. The new managers received the severed hands of their predecessors on the first day of work. Nothing says ‘watch your ass’ like having someone leave body parts on your work desk while you’re at your two-martini lunch.

I made worm food out of several security people from random corps, chosen for a laundry list of abuses to the people of their areas. Additionally, I eliminated a lot of low-hanging fruit that The Corps depended on to keep the lights on. The only requirement I had was that the people I took out were single. I didn’t want to take the chance of another kid ending up as collateral damage.

Things finally came to a head when I terminated a Senior Manager for Ventac. I set up the perfect ‘accident’. The slime was going to tragically meet his end inside his own bio-weapons lab. Unfortunately, I let my emotions get the best of me, and stopped to taunt the bastard. It was the kind of thing Anna would have been furious about, but her being gone is the reason I’ve been so off balance. Or maybe I’m losing my mind.

At least I’m still able to put my skills to good use. During my infiltrations of the various corps, I had managed to collect some interesting information. Since each of the corps had used the same process of infecting people with drones, it only made sense that they would have gotten the virus from the same place.

I stumbled across a file that showed the source of the drone virus was Ventac. I decided to give the Resistance a freebie. An interesting tidbit I found in my target’s personnel file was a severe allergic reaction to the base of the antidote. After that, it only made sense to use his own weapon on him. Yet, the best of plans disintegrate on the field of battle. Once I was facing the bastard, panicking inside the glass walls of his company’s lab, I lost control.

“How does it feel?” The concentrated dose of the virus I had released into the air had no effect on me. His skin had already gone a horrible gray, and his breathing was labored.

“Who are you? Why would you do this?” His bloodshot eyes twitched back and forth as he gaped at me. Trembling hands reached out and knotted into my clothing. “Why would you kill us both?” Smiling, I ripped his hands off me and knocked him on his ass.

“I’m immune, asshole. You on the other hand? You are about to experience your little bug in all its painful, throat closing, glory. My only regret is that I can’t draw this out. You deserve to die this way a few thousand times.” I stayed to watch him twitch out his last breath. As the light fled his eyes the expression of puzzlement on his face did nothing but enrage me.

The power feed I had sabotaged was found earlier than I had expected and they started fixing it. When the lights flickered I knew I had lingered too long. Pulling my mask up over my face I raced out of the facility, but not before a camera managed to catch a glimpse of me. Senior Manager Robert Gentry had died at the hands of his pet project, but I had revealed myself in the process.

Now, I’m being hunted. Or rather, the corps is trying to crack down on The Resistance. They just haven’t realized that all of the enemy operatives that they’re looking for are, really only me. During the day, I hide in the woods as soldiers search the wilderness for the Resistance cells The Corp assumes are responsible for the recent mayhem. Not that they would not gladly shoot me, if they could find me. At night, I run in the last direction I figure anyone will expect a Resistance agent to go, back towards Fenra Corp in Sector 36. Somehow, that choice of direction just feels right. As it turns out, the closer I get to Fenra, the fewer patrols I run into. Once I’m a day out from their borders, the woods are deserted.

I’m often amazed at how quickly people are willing to let down their guard. It’s almost as if they believe since something bad already happened, it would be unlikely for it to happen again. The desire to get things back to normal as soon as possible often blinds people to the dangers they still face. While I have no problem exploiting this peculiar bit of human behavior, it makes me sad. It’s no wonder that the world is such a mess when people would rather sleep in than fight for their own freedom. When they will let others abuse them as long as they get to take a warm shower every morning.

I reach the Fenra compound, dodging the few patrols they have outside the perimeter. The ten foot high, plain gray concrete walls are deceptively mundane. From experience, I know that sensors and cameras line the wall. The upper level has a five foot wide walkway that is regularly patrolled by security. From above, a security team could lay down a shredding cross fire that would leave me dead in seconds.

While the perimeter is fairly secure, it is easy enough to find a way through. Patrols move on schedules. Cameras have blind spots. They haven’t bothered to change anything that I can see since my last visit. I take the time to verify that, before slipping inside the compound. The interior has a few guard posts with stairs leading up atop the wall, but avoiding the patrols inside the walls is even easier. Once out into the compound itself, I find several places to hide. A few are comfortable and well positioned, precisely the place where an enterprising young man can hang his hat.

One of the first I find is a basement, the remnants of a hospital that was torn down long ago. A faded bronze plaque, now green with age, proclaims this to be the site of the San Luis Obispo General Hospital. There are no signs that Fenra Security has ever been here and at first it seems ideal. After checking out the layout though I realize it only has two points of egress and poor lines of sight. In the end, I find the perfect hide out in the shed where Benson met his end. The Corp has cleaned and sterilized it. The locks have been removed on the door and the power lines cut. Tons of junk has been dumped around it, leaving it looking derelict. They appear to be trying to isolate the building from the residents. As the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind.

I amuse myself by slipping around Fenra security without them having a clue I I’m even here. I pilfer some clothes, furniture and rations from The Corp stores. I also help myself to five banned books I find in the basement of the hospital. They’re hidden in a sub-basement room that looks like it has seen some recent use. Within a day of my arrival I have made myself at home, pretty much under Fenra’s nose. In fact, the accommodations are the best I’ve enjoyed since I left the shack behind.

The books are a peculiar discovery, not something I would have expected to find inside a Corp perimeter. War and Peace by Tolstoy; Frankenstein by Shelly; The Scarlett Letter by Hawthorne; The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by Lewis; and The Time Machine by Wells. Every one of them is on the black list of books that would get you sent to an internment camp. Whoever is running security for Fenra is either a sympathizer or an absolute moron.

The only book I haven’t read is Frankenstein. I’m surprised Anna had never mentioned the book to me, as it was published by the same company that put out most of what is considered classic literature. After reading it, I realize why this particular title had been left on the shelf. Reading it puts me in a foul mood, maybe because it hits too close to home. Something about being a monster crafted in a lab gives me a thin skin about reading about another one. Though I can relate to his desire to kill his creator.

Sneaking out past the perimeter guards, I spend a few hours running. I’m just coming back from bathing in a nearby pond when I spot a bunch of kids sneaking around. I follow them down into the old hospital basement. A few minor attempts have been made to secure the place, but it won’t slow down a first year Corp security agent.

I find a comfortable roost in the junction of two cement walls and settle in to watch. The group gets into an uproar when a straggler comes in with two girls, but it turned out the straggler is the ringleader. He gives an impassioned speech about corporate oppression that almost makes me laugh out loud. His words remind me of one of the wide-eyed revolutionary in Les Miserables. Likely, he’s going to end up the same way, dead in a ditch.

One of the girls that came with him throws a fit and I use the noise to cover my retreat. As I head back to my hideout I’m chilled to see three security men hiding in the shadows between two buildings. I have the overwhelming impulse to kill them and hide their bodies. It takes a concerted effort of will to walk away. Back in the shed, I turn the situation over and over in my head.

What the hell is wrong with me? I didn’t come all this way, go to all this effort to set up a refuge, just to throw it away killing random security agents. Is this what I have to look forward to? Going insane, slowly losing the ability to reason? Killing people indiscriminatingly?

My gaze falls on Frankenstein, lying mockingly under my makeshift bed, the black lettering on the spine winking at me in the light of my candles. With a wordless growl I grab a shirt from my bag and toss it over the book. My hand brushes against the cover of the leather bound copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that Anna left with the bookseller for me. I haven’t even looked at it since that day, simply thrust it into my bag and ignored it.

With gentle reverence, I pull the book from my pack. Collapsing onto my bed, I let the book fall open, revealing the envelope inside. Taking the letter into my hand I set the book carefully aside. Examining the envelope I see Anna had taken the time to write my name upon the front in beautiful calligraphic script.

Sicarius
.

Slipping my fingernail in the line of paper and glue I unseal the envelope and pull the heavy sheaf of papers from within. The words are written in code, a complicated cypher that Anna had taught me. It takes only a few seconds for my mind to translate the marks on the paper and the first line becomes clear.

Dear Son,

The letter falls from my hand to the floor as those two words cause me to unravel. Tears that I had thought were gone, well up and spill forth. For a time, I lose myself to the madness of grief. When I’m again in control, I’m glad for the solidness of the structure I find myself in, as well as it’s soundproofing. Otherwise, Fenra Security might find me this very night. Steeling myself against what is to come, I pick up the papers from the floor, put them back in order, and begin to read.

Dear Son,

I’ve never been prone to sentimentality. The scientist in me has always had trouble seeing the purpose in wasting valuable energy in drivel like emotion. There have been two men in my life that caused me to question this. One was a man that died many years ago. The other was you. You are my child. I may not have given birth to you, but over the years I’ve come to think of you as my own. I may have failed you in life, but I hope in death I can at least give you the facts you need to survive.

You know very well that you are the product of an artificial womb. What you don’t know, what I could never bring myself to tell you, is that I was the creator of that technology. Because of me, Talpa was almost able to destroy the world and remake it into whatever image they wanted. Because of me, they were able to create you children, torture all of you, and kill all but you. I’m responsible for all of the torment that you went through.

I took you from that horrible place and have tried to redeem both of us since then. But the past is painful, more painful than I realized before I started writing this letter. Your genetic code was something that I helped to create with a man named Patrick Tierney. He worked for Talpa willingly, a true visionary in genetic science. His work was decades ahead of anything I had ever seen before. It was his stabilization protocols that allowed us to produce near perfect specimens far beyond anything that Talpa had achieved in the past.