A Rift in Space and Crime Page 3

  Alex thought of Lacey, alone in this place with no protective suit. “OK. Anything else I need to know?”

  “You shouldn’t encounter any people. But if you do…avoid them.”

  “I’ll head north, find Lacey, and bring her back.”

  “Good girl.”

  Alex headed back to the elevator that led to the Spinner. “Just one thing.”

  “Yes, my dear?” Nemesis said.

  “Is there any chance Mike could be there?”

  Nemesis and Madge exchanged glances.

  “No,” said Madonna. “No chance.”

  “At least…” said Nemesis. His face had lost its usual brightness.

  “At least what?” urged Alex.

  “He won’t be there,” said Madonna, her voice hard. “Now come on. We don’t have much time.”

  10

  Superhero

  Lacey watched the boy as he whittled something with a knife.

  He’d been standing on the other side of that odd patch of air, looking at her and beckoning. He’d reached up and she’d taken his hand. Then the world had paled to sudden darkness as she found herself in a rocky wasteland.

  He’d led her away from the rocks into the city. He wore some kind of superhero costume: a black mask, blue cape and red suit. There was a ‘P’ on the front. She could think of no superhero beginning with a P.

  “Let me go,” she said to him for the hundredth time. He looked up at her and shook his head, then returned to his whittling.

  They were sitting in a vast open space, about a mile from where they’d started. The buildings around them were ruined, windows blown out and walls crumbing. The sky was reddish black and the only sound was the rumble of distant thunder.

  Something very bad had happened to the city, and she’d missed it somehow.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  “Gone,” he replied. It was the first time he’d spoken.

  “You need to let me go back to my parents now. You have no right…”

  “Shush. Lacey shush.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Lacey, come back. Red woman. On pier.”

  She thought of the woman who’d been watching the hole in the air when she’d dragged her eyes up from her phone and spotted it. The woman’s eyes had shown real fear.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “What’s happened to the city?”

  “Shush!” He dropped his stick and plunged the knife into the waistband of his suit. It was yellow, with a big buckle made of black plastic. She shrank back.

  “Lacey stay here now,” he said. He put a finger to his lips in a hushing gesture. She shook her head.

  “Look, kid. I can find your folks for you. Take you home. You look like you’re on your way to a party.”

  “Pip not kid. Pip eighteen.”

  “Pip? Is that your name?” Why did he talk like that, if he wasn’t a kid? And why was he so short?

  She felt a blush hit her face. He was handicapped, and she’d been mocking him. She opened her mouth to apologize, then remembered that he’d effectively kidnapped her.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “But my folks will be worrying. I need to get back to them. Can’t you just take me back the way we came?”

  She stood up, surveying the buildings. Everything looked wrong: tumbledown walls, pockmarked tarmac. She had no sense of any landmarks.

  She was lost.

  “Lacey stay with Pip. New friend,” he said. He slumped onto the ground and brought his knife out. He used it to gouge at his fingernails and she winced.

  A rumble came from somewhere behind her and she turned, her breathing shallow. The sky was moving, roiling and shifting like milk settling in one of her mom’s lattes.

  The sky here was wrong. And there was a smell. It was a sharp, sulphurous, yellowy smell. It washed up her nose, drifted into her lungs, and made her want to cough her guts up.

  “What’s the smell?”

  He shrugged. “Air.”

  The air in San Francisco didn’t smell like this. Los Angeles, maybe, but not San Francisco. The air at Fisherman’s Wharf had been full of salt, and coffee, and frying donuts.

  The boy’s skin looked exposed and weathered, his face a deep reddish brown and his hands marked with bruises and scars.

  In contrast, her own skin was soft and pale. She avoided the sun, she wasn’t the cheerleader type. And she liked to wear black. Today she was wearing her normal uniform. Long black floaty skirt, black tunic down to the wrists and a floppy black hat.

  She loved her hat. Even in San Francisco, where the sun barely pierced the fog, it protected her from the glare. It kept her skin pale, wan, and interesting.

  She looked at the boy.

  “Where’s your family?”

  The boy’s face darkened. He bent over and groaned. His superhero tunic was stained brown and red with dirt and his long hair was matted.

  She could find her own way back.

  She pushed herself up, brushing down her skirt. It was dusty but not damaged. That was something, at least.

  He was ignoring her. But she could sense that he was fully aware of her movements.

  She turned her back to him and started walking. The ground was difficult to navigate, making her steps unsteady and her ankles sore. Lacy was a suburban girl. The furthest she ever walked was from the school gate to the school building. She certainly never tackled rocks, or rubble, or wrecked cities.

  Her dad had wanted to go hillwalking. He had visions of heading north into hill country, of taking her and her mom on a hike. Showing them the redwoods. Luckily he’d had the sense to join the tourist throngs instead. The dull, predictable, idiot tourist throngs. Fisherman’s Wharf, Golden Gate Bridge, the Presidio, the trolley cars.

  A lump came to her throat. She’d heard his voice, just before the boy had snatched her. They’d had a fight—he thought she was spending too much time on her phone, as usual—and she’d ignored him. She wished she hadn’t.

  She was a hundred feet or so away from the boy now, and he still hadn’t acknowledged that she’d moved. But his body had stiffened. He was listening.

  She scrambled to the top of a pile of rubble and looked around. Ahead of her was a cityscape like nothing she’d ever seen before.

  The buildings were rough shapes, the sidewalks overgrown and covered in debris. Windows everywhere were blown out. Smoke rose from the horizon.

  Tentatively, she made for the nearest stretch of tarmac. It was rough, with jagged welts running through it. She passed buildings, some which looked familiar.

  She looked round. The boy was standing behind her, at the point where the rocks met the road. He was motionless. Spooky kid.

  She carried on walking, resisting the urge to run.

  He’s not dangerous, she told herself. Scrawny little sucker. She could overpower him in a fight. Even if she never did do any exercise.

  She could hear his footsteps now, echoing between the buildings.

  “What do you want, kid?” she called, not breaking stride.

  “Want you come back.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re my friend.”

  “She turned.” I’m not your friend. What makes you think that?”

  “You came with me.”

  “You grabbed me.”

  “You took Pip hand. Lacey wanted to come.”

  “Lacey did not want to come. She was—I was—curious. You need to let me go home.”

  “Want you to be my friend.”

  “Why? Don’t you have any friends of your own?”

  “No. All alone here.”

  11

  Pompeii

  The Spinner door opened. This time, instead of swish-thunking, it grated as if broken.

  Alex resisted the temptation to rush out and checked her breathing apparatus first. As well as a new skinsuit, Madonna had also given her a mask, a tiny, delicate thing that sat on her mouth like a wisp of cotton. It was beautiful, like all th
e tech on Hive Earth.

  She fingered it, checking that it was still in place. It was fine. Like all the tech Madonna invented, it worked perfectly.

  Madonna had also let her wear a denim jacket over the skin suit. Alex was short, and pale, and she ate too much pizza. Even in a world with no one to see her, she was glad of the jacket.

  She took a moment to get her bearings, still not leaving the Spinner. Through the open door, she could see sky. It reminded her of the anomaly at Fisherman’s Wharf. Red, and glowing. Patches of it were purple, with grey clouds building over in the east.

  She put one hand on the door frame, and slowly stepped outside. The ground was loose, not smooth and warm like the tarmac in San Francisco. She was on a road, but it was unlike any road she’d ever seen. In fact, it reminded her more of when she been to Pompeii as a girl on a school trip.

  But Pompeii had been bathed in sunshine, populated by Italian school kids making out. Nothing like this.

  She stepped out fully, feeling the warm air touch her skin. The skin suit sizzled a little, making her breath catch in her throat. After a few seconds it pulsed against her skin and cooled.

  She was in the same spot as the Hall of Justice at home and the MOO on Hive Earth. Central San Francisco, two miles from the Bay.

  The streets were littered with objects: bricks, pipework and trash that looked like it had been there for years. She could smell rotting fish.

  She’d need to head due north, without the usual landmarks to guide her.

  She took ten slow paces, looking from side to side, watching for movement.

  There was none.

  No vehicles, no people, no sign of life. No cats even.

  There was a ruined building to her left which looked a lot like the Hall of Justice. It was missing its top two floors here. The walls that remained were jagged and rough against the skyline.

  She took a deep breath. So, this was a version of San Francisco in which something bad had happened.

  A war? A bomb?

  It had to be an earthquake.

  Madonna had told her it would be late afternoon when she arrived. Which meant the sun would be to her west. She looked west but the sun was nowhere to be seen. The sky was dark, hazy and thick with clouds and smoke. The sun had to be up there somewhere.

  She rounded the Hall and started to head north. In her own San Francisco she would hit the i-80 first and then continue up 6th Street to Market Street. At that point the grid would change direction and she’d be able to head directly north up Taylor Street or Mason Street.

  All she found now was a vast twisted pile of rubble the size of a mountain. Possibly the remains of what might have once been the i-80.

  She looked from side to side for another way through. If she headed toward the Bay, things might get easier.

  The wreckage of the freeway followed her as she progressed. After two blocks she decided to give up. She had to get across that wreckage, over the other side then up to Fisherman’s Wharf. She had to do it quickly too, almost impossible without equipment and help.

  She turned around. For once, she knew she wasn’t going to do this alone. She had to go back to the MOO for supplies, more kit. Madonna could help with anything. And they must know more about this place than they were letting on.

  12

  Trolley

  “What do you mean, you’re alone here?” Lacey asked. She shook her phone for the thirty second time; it was definitely dead.

  “Alone. Just me,” replied Pip.

  “That’s ridiculous. Look at you, you’re a kid. How can you be here alone?”

  “Banished me.”

  “Who did? Your parents? You’re lying. Even my folks wouldn’t do that.”

  “My town. All o’ them.”

  “Why?” She plunged her phone in her pocket, feeling lost without it.

  “Scared of me.”

  Lacey took a step back. “Why would they be scared of a kid?”

  “Told you, not kid. Eighteen.”

  The boy moved away, dragging his feet. He perched on a pile of mangled pipes, and resumed whittling.

  She was torn between feeling sorry for him, and hating him. She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t believe an entire town would banish a kid. He was delusional.

  “I’m sorry, pal. But you’ll have to find a friend somewhere else. There’ll be people missing me. People looking for me.”

  She started walking. The sidewalk was rough but she was getting used to it. At least she was wearing heavy black boots.

  “Don’t go!” cried Pip.

  She carried on walking.

  She was on a long narrow street leading east, or at least she thought so. She tried to remember where their hotel was. It was somewhere downtown. About a mile or so away from Fisherman’s Wharf. They’d walked there this morning, Mom wanting to get some fresh air.

  She’d grumbled at the time, wishing they could get a cab.

  She never thought she would miss her parents.

  She took a deep breath and started swinging her arms, trying to convince herself that she was determined. That she knew what she was doing, where she was going.

  At some point she was bound to see something she recognized. Some sort of a landmark. At least she could hear the boy’s shouts receding.

  She paused as she reached an intersection. It seemed familiar. She closed her eyes and tried to remember.

  Yes. Her mom had stopped here. She’d taken a photo of something.

  She turned around, trying to identify what it was her mom might have wanted to see. But the city had changed. Everything was in ruins. And the sky...

  She coughed twice then froze when something moved behind her, clattering coming from the shadows.

  She turned slowly. “Hello? Is there anyone there?”

  The clattering stopped abruptly, as if someone had heard her. She held her breath.

  An upended supermarket trolley shifted and a dark shape flowed over it. It was a cat. No, two cats, three, four. She couldn’t make out where one cat ended and the next began. They were hissing as they moved, climbing over each other.

  “Hey!” she called, unsure why she was addressing a gang of cats.

  The cats stopped moving. There were six of them, mostly black, one with a single white spot on its nose.

  The cats blinked at her. Then they all vanished.

  She stumbled forward.

  “Where did y’all go? Where are you?”

  She grabbed the shopping trolley and hauled it upright. Sure enough, the cats were gone.

  Pip was suddenly next to her. “Now Lacey knows,” he said.

  “Lacey knows what? That cats are good at hiding?”

  “Uh-uh. This place. What it does.”

  “You’re just trying to scare me. You won’t stop me getting away. I’ve been here before. I’m gonna find my parents.”

  “Parents gone.”

  “What do you mean, parents gone?”

  He nodded in the direction of the Bay. “Run away.”

  “I don’t know about your family, kid, but mine haven’t run anywhere. They’ll be looking for me.” Things were getting stranger, but she refused to listen to the nagging voice telling her things weren’t as simple as she wanted them to be. “Now are you gonna help me find them, or not?”

  “Not.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She picked up her pace and started walking again, almost stumbling over her feet. At one point she tripped over a rock and yelped in surprise. She muttered at herself under her breath. She couldn’t afford to get hurt, he’d catch up with her if she did.

  She still hadn’t spotted anything that looked like the hotel. She paused for breath, balling her fists on her thighs. She wasn’t used to this.

  She felt wind on her face and looked up. A vehicle? One of those trolleys her Mum loved so much?

  There was a light in the air in front of her, circular, growing.

  Another freak weather event, like the one she’d see
n at Fisherman’s Wharf. Or at least, that’s what she hoped.

  The patch of light grew. It was swirling, spiraling, spinning now.

  She took a step back. Maybe this was what had wrecked the city. But where had everyone gone? Disasters didn’t happen this fast.

  The circle had reached six foot wide. Abruptly, it stopped spinning. Its center had clarified, red sky appearing behind it.

  She gasped. In the center of the circle was Pip. He was waving his hands around, spinning his fingers madly, grinning like a fool.

  He stopped moving his hands. The circle dematerialized and the air returned to its former dullness. He was standing in front of her, staring at her with his hands on his hips.

  “That why they banished me,” he said.

  13

  Shoulder

  Alex rattled at the doors to the Hall of Justice. They wouldn’t budge.

  She took a few steps back and hurled herself at them.

  This made no sense. When she left the Spinner, she’d been right on the threshold of this building. She’d stepped through its doors, no problem.

  She backed up to the other side of the road, checking for traffic as she went. Unsurprisingly, there was none. No cars, no trolleys, buses, bikes. Nothing. She was beginning to understand why Madonna had been so cagey about this place.

  She could feel the air on her skin leaving a greasy film. She coughed.

  She had to get out of this place quickly. She checked her bitbox. It was dead.

  She shook it. Looked away from it. Placed it on the ground and turned her back on it. Nothing worked.

  Exasperated, she threw it at the doors. It bounced off and clattered down the steps. The doors stayed closed.

  She ran at the doors, lowering her shoulder in front of her. As she hit them, a pulse traveled through her shoulder and upper arm. It hurt.

  She fell back, sweating.

  She ran her hands over her limbs. She’d pulled a muscle in her upper arm. Her wrists were sore, and her hands grazed.