Karma City Read online

  He touched his finger to the trigger.

  Donna’s voice replaced Corpse-Dad’s and screamed, “DON’T!”

  Donna? Jack opened his eyes to find Donna cowering in front of him, her face wet with tears and pale from terror. He dropped the gun and snatched her in his arms. “Donna, I’m so sorry. I thought it was...”

  She looked up at him, her glassy eyes quivered in terror. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

  “Please don’t leave me. I need you.”

  “Jack, this has gone too far! You need medicine.”

  Jack broke down and cried into her shoulder, unable to hold back his sorrow any longer.

  Chapter 4

  Where are you? Please come back! “DAD!”

  Jameson woke to feel Luna’s hand clutching his. She crouched next to his bed.

  He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “You’re always there when I wake up. Why?”

  “Because the only thing worse than a nightmare is waking up alone.”

  Jameson sat up and switched on the small lamp near the bed. The red lampshade warmed the white walls in a pink hue. The tiny guest room, one of three in Dr. Albert Walker’s medical center, kept two beds and a table between them. “We were so close, Luna. After weeks of travel through the Void Lands, we finally made it to Karma City. The Oasis Hospital records were right in front of me.” He cracked his knuckles. “Damn that Gemni, or whatever he’s called.”

  Luna returned to her bed adjacent from his. She pulled her leather-bound journal and pencil from her pack and propped it on her knees. Her eyes, like wet pebbles of green ocean glass, fixed on his for a quiet moment. The rosy glow of the lamplight played on her face, washing away the scarring. Jameson saw the face that would be had her life been different: soft and symmetrical. He didn’t like it. Her tribal branding showed her passion, might and the depth of her character. The scars ran deep, he knew. And though Luna’s face represented principles she no longer valued, the scars made her beautiful in Jameson’s eyes, more so than any other woman. He imagined getting up, crossing the room and climbing on top of her. How often he’d had the thought. And he knew she would fall beneath him, open for him, take him. His arms tensed, ready to lift his body to action but he froze when she spoke.

  “Your father is lucky to have a son like you. You’ve never stopped caring about him. In this world where so many people forget, you hold on, you keep remembering.”

  “It hurts to remember sometimes. But it helps, too.”

  “Tell me something good.”

  A soft laugh rumbled in Jameson’s throat. “All right. I remember Mom and Dad walking me along Center Avenue near Greely Park. I was just big enough to hold each of their hands. They’d lift me up and swing me between their steps. I’d laugh because it was fun and because my father laughed. Those were the good years when Mom was well. Dad was always there when I needed him. While Mom rambled in a Malady fit through the night, he read me stories at bedtime, making funny voices to distract me. I’d pretend to sleep when he cracked open my bedroom door in the middle of the night to check on me. Couldn’t fool him. ‘Go to sleep, Jamie,’ he’d whisper. ‘Mom’s fine.’ I can still feel his hands gently falling over my eyes, hiding the sight of mother lying on the bathroom floor, blood running from her wrists. That was the only time I saw him cry. When he knelt down to drape his bathrobe over the woman he loved, tears fell from the tip of his nose. But even then, like a superhero, he reached down and lifted her up. Dad carried her away and I just stood there, frozen in my grief. And that’s where my childhood ended, in that bathroom doorway.”

  Luna frowned. “That started out good, then got really sad.” She gave him a half smile to lift the gloom.

  Jameson shrugged. “I’ve been called a downer, but I’m working on that.”

  “I think you’re just a guy that has a lot he needs to talk about. And I don’t mind listening.”

  “Thanks, Luna.”

  “We’ll find your father, Jameson. Or at the least, we’ll learn what happened to him. Our hunt continues in the morning. And now we’re tracking two.” She opened her journal and touched the pencil to the page.

  Jameson watched her set to work. His curiosity piqued. “We’ve been running together a while and this is the first time I’ve seen that journal. I didn’t know you wrote.”

  “I don’t.” She tossed the book to Jameson. He opened it and nearly gasped.

  Elaborate sketches of rolling mountains, wide rivers, towering trestles and strange settlements filled the pages. He marveled at the detailed drawings of trains, railroads and steam works complexes. Deeper in the journal waited faces of men, women and children, all smiling with joy carefully rendered. After the mosaic of people, he found himself on a single page, a simple portrait she made without him knowing. In it, he sat beside a river, a smothered camp fire smoking behind him as he tied his boots. He remembered that day. “This was the morning after I dragged you from the river.”

  “I jumped the train that night, leaving the tribe, half-hoping to die. You saved me and gave me the chance to be someone better.”

  “Luna, don’t talk like you owe me something. Cause you don’t.”

  “I know that. But you deserve the same chance and I’m going to see that you get it.”

  Jameson looked back at the journal to distract himself from his rising passion. He wanted so badly to hold her against him and tell her every feeling of appreciation and love between a storm of kisses. His nostrils flared in private frustration. Why can’t I just do it? He thumbed through the drawings again. “These are amazing, Luna.”

  “Thanks.” She took back the book. “It’s how I keep my memories. But only the good ones.”

  ***

  Jack eased his motorcycle to an idle outside of Sable District’s gates. He showed his Karma Daily press identification to the security guard and entered the district of Dr. Marcus Graves. The cool night air tore through Jack’s denim jacket. The chilly nights and quick rains foretold the approach of autumn. He rolled the throttle, moving faster down the district roads.

  He had come to Sable District to register for Quell. Jack knew that no other drug in Karma, or parts beyond, could quiet the effects of the Malady parasite. Over the years, he’d witnessed countless citizens fall deep into addiction, and the possibility of devotion to Graves Enterprises unsettled him. He sighed. What other choice do I have? Can’t put Donna in danger again.

  Soldiers in black armor patrolled the streets of Sable District with rifles, clubs and bright flashlights. Jack noticed black patrol vans roll down the street with spotlights sweeping the alleys. Looks like they’re searching for someone. Interesting. He pushed the curiosity aside knowing that the Sable Guard kept committed to the swift apprehension, removal or destruction of anyone intending to harm the district, its people, or violate its regulations.

  Families and businesses flourished behind the impenetrable stone walls fortifying the district. Arguably the safest community in Karma City, the wellness of Sable District remained an illusion. Only those individuals willing to register with Graves Enterprises and disclose their Malady infection were permitted to live in the district. Adhering to a strict regimen of Quell usage with routine medical examinations was the only requirement for residency. For the occupants of Sable District, this was a small price to pay for a sheltered and peaceful life.

  Jack switched off the engine and kicked the stand into place. He dismounted and took a moment to gaze up at the dizzying building. Sable Tower, the one hundred and eight story skyscraper, dominated the Karma cityscape and could be seen for miles across the Void Lands.

  “Must be some view at the top,” he muttered.

  His own words stirred something in the recesses of his Malady-deteriorated memory, something deeply forgotten. Shards of remembrance glittered around in his mind like a broken mirror reflecting distorted truths. He thought of beautiful landscapes seen from high above the clouds. Flying with Dad. The airplanes. I was a boy. Memorie
s or dreams? Malady deceived him, only allowing a long-dead past that he could not recall and could not escape.

  Jack entered the front lobby of Sable Tower. Armed guards watched as he approached the front desk. A young, female receptionist with curly yellow hair greeted him. “Good day and welcome to Graves Enterprises at Sable Tower. How may I help you?”

  Jack took off his hat and tucked it under his arm. “Yes, hi. My name is Jack Halligan. I’m here for a nine-thirty appointment.”

  She typed his name into the computer and twirled her hair while waiting for the system to locate his information. “Are you the Jack Halligan? From the Karma Daily?”

  He gave a playful bow.

  With a beaming smile, the receptionist handed Jack a clipboard. “Please fill out this registration form and the nurse will call you to the examination room in a few minutes. Need a pen?”

  Jack pulled a silver pen from his pocket. “Nope.” The prying writer in him took over. He pointed to the guards. “What’s with all the firepower around town?”

  The receptionist glanced at the Sable Guardsmen and Jack clearly saw the fear fall over her innocent eyes. She gave a scripted reply. “Due to increased security concerns, Sable District is under enhanced community-focused protective services.”

  Jack stepped away from the desk and sat in a chair against the lobby windows. There is definitely something off in Graves’ district. Maybe it has to do with the outbreak at Oasis Hospital. Probably trying to prevent that from occurring here. But why would that woman seem so afraid? There’s something more.

  Jack hated the thought of relinquishing personal information to Graves Enterprises. More interested in the strange mood overcasting the district, he made light of the registration form. Eyes...two. Hair...thinning. Hereditary issues...I’ll ask my dead father next time I see him. He set aside the form and took out his pocket notepad to jot down his curious observations. Armed guards patrolling streets. Searching? Nervous residents. Behavioral switch in receptionist after questioning. Fearful of surroundings. Being watched.

  Minutes later, a nurse entered the lobby and welcomed Jack. He followed the woman to a small examination room.

  “Good evening, Mr. Halligan. It’s nice to meet you,” the nurse held out her hand.

  Jack accepted. “Call me Jack.”

  “I must say, I enjoy your articles very much.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Please have a seat on the examination table. I’ll be taking some blood in just a moment.” She looked over his registration form and smiled. “Nice work.”

  Jack shrugged. “I didn’t see any magazines in the lobby so I had to entertain myself somehow.”

  “I understand. Tell me, what’s this about seeing your dead father?”

  Jack waved a hand. “Oh, just a joke.”

  “Is it?”

  Jack’s shoulders crumbled. “No. I’ve been having hallucinations of my father’s corpse. He talks to me like I’m a child and he’s so real that I can smell him.” Jack looked into her eyes. “So, how crazy am I?”

  “Sounds like you’re suffering from Stage Two Malady, Jack.”

  “Great.”

  “But Malady affects people differently. The mind-altering affects are unique to the individual, based on personality and coping skills. Some people, like the young, timid or elderly, fall harder to the parasite because they just don’t have the resolve, experience or courage to persevere.”

  “My condition will worsen in time, right?”

  “Yes. As it does in everyone. Stage One typically lasts three months. Stage Two can be longer depending on the parasite’s activity; some people remain in Stage Two for up to year. Stage Three is expected to be diagnosed after a year and a half of infection.”

  “Damn.” Jack sighed. “Then I’ve got roughly another year before I go completely nuts.”

  “A regimen of Quell will greatly slow the parasite’s advancement. Jack, you can regain, and possibly maintain, control. At least, that’s the goal and the belief here in Sable District.”

  “How does Quell work?”

  “Through the science of osmobiosis, we are able to force an organism to fall into a state of cryptobiosis, or ‘living death’ as some call it, by a chemical reaction. Quell makes Malady sleep in the host’s brain, slowing its production of harmful waste toxins that corrupt the functions of the brain’s limbic system.”

  “That’s amazing; a little frightening, but amazing.”

  “You don’t need to be afraid of Quell. It’s helped so many people take back their lives. Nearly everyone in Sable District is proof of that. I’m proof of that.”

  “You have Malady, too?”

  “Yes. I’ve been infected for four years.”

  “But you seem so healthy.”

  She gave him a comforting smile. “I feel healthy, which means I am healthy.”

  Jack thought of Donna and of the gun in his hand that almost killed her. He blinked hard but could not erase the scene from his eyes. “There’s side effects, right?”

  “Yes. But they’re manageable with appropriate dosage. Expect a little drowsiness as your body acclimates to the drug. There’s a little nausea, too.”

  “I don’t want to be addicted. Let’s face it, Graves has the damn city doped up and it’s made him the sovereign of Karma. I don’t want to feel sick anymore. I don’t want to hallucinate. I don’t want to become a danger to my girlfriend but dammit, I don’t want to lose who I am to a bottle of pills.” He let out a calming breath, as if venting a smoldering fire in his core. His head hung between his shoulders.

  “You’re right to feel this way, Jack. But only irresponsible people become addicts. Look,” she paused and folded her hands in front of her. “You’re sick and need medicine. That doesn’t make you a junkie or promise you’ll become one. Quell should be used as needed. Graves Enterprises understands that the severity of symptoms varies from person to person. You control the intake. You control your health.”

  Donna’s sentiments echoed in Jack’s heart. People get a shot at living normal lives on Quell. He cast aside his opinions of Grave’s Enterprises and decided that preserving his life with Donna was far more important; he needed a shot at normal. “Sign me up.”

  The nurse flipped over the registration form. “Now, we do need an address so we can ship your medicine. The train takes shipments to town twice a week; Monday’s and Thursday’s. Tomorrow’s only Tuesday so I’ll send you home with a supply to hold you over.”

  “My address is six twenty-five Center Avenue, Greely Park District. Floor sixteen. Apartment two-o-two.”

  While the nurse penned his information, Jack wondered how she’d react to questions about the condition in Sable District. “Speaking of the train, did you folks hear the train bridge explosion over the East River? It rattled my apartment all the way in central Karma.”

  “Yes. Did they ever find the people who jumped?”

  People who jumped from the train? Jack wondered. Interesting. “Uh, no, actually,” he answered, pretending to be in the know. “They’re still investigating.”

  The nurse became animated, excited to gossip. She rolled up Jack’s sleeve and swabbed his upper arm with a disinfectant wipe. “Crazy thing, huh? My brother said people just started killing. He works at Oasis Hospital and escaped; oh, and he saw two people—a man and a woman with guns—flee the scene in an ambulance with Dr. Albert Walker.”

  “Walker. The name sounds familiar. Yes, I’ve read about him. A real nut-job, huh?” Jack played along, hoping to get more leads.

  “No kidding. Anyway, my brother says there’s been no sight of Dr. Walker or the two mystery people since. Are you following the explosion and riot for a story?” The nurse injected the needle. Jack winced as she drew a blood sample.

  “Sure am.” Sure am now.

  Chapter 5

  The midday sun flashed between the tenements and high-rises as the ambulance sped through the crisscrossing roads and alleyways. Jameson Shoals sat
in the passenger seat and noticed his reflection in the side mirror. His face looked different from Karma’s citizens, harder, unyielding. I remember this place. The only thing that’s changed is me.

  The buildings of brick and stone wore brandings of graffiti while broken windows— some boarded, others agape and glassless—added to the bleak reality of the times. The decay of the neighborhoods stemmed from the alleys, spilling into the streets, contaminating places once beautiful and proud. Litter tumbled like autumn leaves, filling potholes, and packing gutters. Streetlamps leaned, winking as if clinging to life like the rusted cars that sputtered and choked. People wandered, people begged. They slept on the sidewalks beside the warm subway vents. They sipped coffee in bus stops and huddled around trash fires. Abandoned homes stood like monuments but to what, none cared to recall, or even could recall.

  Jameson rolled down the glass, but the city air wasn’t fresh. Rotting garbage and carbon monoxide curdled his nose. He asked Albert, who drove the ambulance, “Do you even know where you’re going?”

  “It should be around here somewhere.”

  “You’ve gone up and down this street four times. Find a place to park. I’m getting tired of driving around.”

  “Someone’s grumpy today.”

  Albert parked in front of a general store. Jameson noticed his reflection again, this time in the store-front window. The stock of his shotgun protruded from his backpack, rising above his right shoulder. His leather jacket foretold his travels and warned of his volatile nature like the stripes of a deadly snake. “I’m grabbing some supplies,” he told the others. “Be right out.”

  The bell on the glass door jangled when he stepped inside. The store smelled of lemon cleaner and bleach. The clerk behind the counter labored with a rag and spray bottle, scrubbing the register area with passion; prevailing in his personal war against the micro-parasite. He paused his chemical assault and gave Jameson a nod. “Welcome. What brings you in?”

  “I need water, bandages, and Checkers.”