Chapter Twelve

I walked along the street toward Cairo’s house, this time with my hood up. The eyes of several families perched on front steps followed me, nervous, likely wondering who in their neighborhood might be ready to die.

With the cloud-veiled sun sinking toward the horizon, time was running short. I couldn’t stop and explain why I had raised my hood—not because the temperature had dropped; I needed to display a measure of coolness and wear my aloof persona. My own confidence might be contagious enough to help Cairo decide that he could endure a short stint in a dangerous Jungle district.

I climbed the three steps to Cairo’s door and knocked loudly. As before, classical music boomed from speakers inside, Mozart this time, if I remembered my music history correctly. “Requiem Mass” would have been perfect background music, but it sounded like a lively violin concerto. That would have to do.

When the door opened, Georgia appeared. The moment she recognized me, her brow lifted. “Phoenix? Back so soon?”

“Yes. I need a favor.”

“A favor?” She fanned her face. “Heavens’ sakes, Phoenix, you scared me half to death. I thought you had come to reap my soul. I’ve been having chest pains, and I thought they were from indigestion, but when I saw you, I was sure a heart attack was on its way.”

I pushed back my hood. “I apologize. I just want to talk to Cairo. I have something important I’d like him to do.”

“Then I’m not about to die?”

“Not that I know of.” I leaned closer and lowered my voice to a whisper. “But I’ve learned some things that worry me. I’m on a mission to find out more. I’m suspicious about how the Council is using the Gateway. If the worst is true, then Tanya’s eternal existence is at stake.”

She gasped. “Tanya? My baby?”

I slid my hand into hers. “And Cairo can help me.”

Tears in her eyes, she nodded. “Then you name it. He’ll do it.” We walked into the room where we had performed the initiation. Still wearing his cloak, Cairo sat on the sofa plucking his cello, apparently satisfied with playing pizzicato instead of sawing the strings with his ragged bow. With the boom box now turned down, his out-of-tune notes dominated the soundscape.

“What’s up?” Cairo stared at me with vibrant eyes. “Got a soul for me to reap?”

I maintained a stoic expression. “Not yet, but something related to reaping.”

Georgia and I sat next to Cairo, one of us on each side. “Now, listen,” Georgia said, “you pay attention to Phoenix and do what he says. He’s your mentor, so he’ll steer you right.”

“Sure.” Noah slid his cello to the floor and again stared at me. “Let’s hear it.”

His eager eyes told me that I could drop the persona and speak candidly. “Okay,” I said, spreading out my hands. “Here’s the deal. You met Singapore. Well, she has to leave for a while, but she doesn’t want the people in her district to worry about no one being around to reap souls while she’s gone. You see, we have some suspicions about what really happens at the Gateway, and that means we’re not super confident that the souls we’ve reaped, including Tanya’s, are in a safe place, so we’re going to do everything we can to find out.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?”

I pinched the edge of his cloak. “We need you to live in Sing’s apartment until further notice. I’ll let your mother know where it is in case she receives word of your new assignment. Once in a while you’ll walk around Sing’s district with your hood up and your head down so people will think the district’s covered, and no one will be the wiser that you’re not Sing. It won’t take you long to start picking up death alarms, but keep your ears open for street gossip about someone dying and your eyes open for a death messenger. Someone or something will lead you to whoever the victim is. Then you can reap the soul.”

I paused to take a breath. “I know it sounds dangerous, but—”

“No, no!” He grabbed my wrist. “The more dangerous, the better. I’m in.”

Georgia fanned her face again. “Oh, Phoenix, this makes me so nervous, but if you say he can help Tanya, we’ll both do whatever it takes.”

“Perfect.” I pushed Cairo’s hood back and rubbed his bald head. “We have a lot to do.”

For the next hour Georgia and I worked on transforming Cairo into Sing by teasing Georgia’s wig into Sing-like curls and fastening it onto his head with poster-board adhesive. While Georgia packed Cairo’s essentials in a backpack, I used the last few minutes to help him mimic Sing’s silky voice. He caught on quickly, his ear for music and his youthful vocal cords providing the perfect blend of talents. When we finished, we said good-bye to Georgia. She cried for a moment but quickly calmed herself and sent us away with a blessing.

While I walked with Cairo, I coached him on how to move in Sing’s graceful manner. Again he picked up the new skill without a problem. After I explained how to get information from the gossip network, I glanced at the descending sun. I had to hurry.

We jogged the rest of the way to my apartment, bustled inside, and climbed out the window. As soon as our feet touched down on the fire-escape landing, Sing opened the door and peered at us from her apartment. “I’d better not show myself while you’re out there.” She gestured with her head. “Come over through my building’s front entrance. I’m in two nineteen.”

With his hood raised, Cairo clutched the straps of his backpack and jumped up to the railing. “I’ll just take the shortcut.” He leaped across the gap, landed with one foot on Sing’s railing, and dropped to her fire escape. When he settled, he spun toward me and grinned. “Piece of cake.”

I gave him a thumbs up. “I guess there’s nothing to worry about.”

Sing ushered Cairo inside. After he disappeared within, she cast a worried look at me.

I leaned forward against the railing and tried for a comforting tone. “It’ll be all right. Just be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Someone will be knocking at apartment two nineteen in the middle of the night. I hope it’s me, but it might be someone else.”

She nodded. “The entry code for the main door is six, nine, one, four.”

“Got it.” As soon as she went inside, I climbed back through the window, grabbed my suitcase, and hustled out, locking the door behind me. The camp lay in an abandoned industrial district about three miles away, an easy walk under normal conditions, but lugging a suitcase would make it difficult to get there before sundown.

When I arrived at the street, I broke into a quick march toward a busy thoroughfare at the next block. I could try to hitchhike once I got there, but most people hesitated to give anyone a ride, much less a Reaper. Picking up one of us probably felt like inviting death itself into the car, so standing with my thumb in the air would likely be a waste of time.

As I walked, the rain returned in a spitting drizzle. I raised my hood and accelerated a notch. Maybe I could pass the time by checking on Crandyke and seeing how he could help my cause.

I plugged the clasp into my valve. When the cloak energized, I probed the fibers with my mind. “Crandyke? How’s it going?”

“What do you think? I’m a disembodied slave to a tyrannical master who refuses to complete his sacred duty to set me free.”

I waited for a woman to pass me on the sidewalk before answering. “That’s pretty close to the mark. But maybe if you think of yourself as a genie in a lamp, you’ll deal with it better.”

“And you want three wishes, don’t you?”

“It’s for a good cause. Rescuing an innocent family… and securing your ticket to the Gateway.”

“All right. All right. But if you don’t send me through the Gateway soon, I’ll become your worst nightmare. You won’t be able to plug in your cloak without hearing me screaming bloody murder at the top of my lungs.”

“As if you had lungs.” I stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry. You’ll get through the next time I’m there.”

“I suppose I’ll have to trust you,” he grumbled. “Not that I have a choice.”

“No. You don’t.”

“What’s your first wish?”

I glanced at the river to my left. Every few seconds, a car or truck whizzed by, blocking my view for a moment and raising a racket. Following the grayish-green water upstream would take me straight to the camp. “What do you know about the corrections camp near the river? I’ve passed by it, but I’ve never been inside.”

“Quite a bit. I toured it once with a high-security clearance. While I worked at the enforcement office, I procured equipment and supplies for them, and I hired their security personnel, you know, interviewed candidates, did background checks, that sort of thing.”

“Is there an unguarded door? Any way to enter and exit without being seen?”

His voice took on a sarcastic bite. “Well, being able to leave like that would pretty much ruin the whole prison motif, don’t you think?”

“I don’t mean for a prisoner. I’m going there for a mass reaping, and I assume my temporary quarters will be close by or maybe inside the compound itself.”

“A mass reaping? Imagine that. A Reaper who won’t do his job gets a cushy assignment.”

“Stay on topic, Crandyke. The sooner I get my answers, the sooner you’ll get what you want.”

“Yes, master. I will obey your every whim.” Crandyke’s tone altered to that of a proud know-it-all. “The camp complex is surrounded by a tall fence with razor wire on top. It used to be a manufacturing facility that housed a few employees in an old dorm they called the Hilton, a joke, I assume. It’s pretty rundown. Anyway, the security is high even there—motion-sensitive cameras in nearly every room. But guards in that building are few and far between. If memory serves, there is a rear entrance for residents that allows direct access to the outside without having to pass through a gate, though there is an armed guard posted there. I doubt that he would check a Reaper who is going in, but going out is a different matter, as you might expect.”

“They don’t want a prisoner to leave disguised as a Reaper.”

“Right. Prison guards tend to want to keep prisoners inside. They do their jobs, unlike some people I know.”

“Cut the commentary. It’s getting old.” A truck breezed by, flapping my cloak. After waiting for it to settle, I probed the fibers again. “What else can you tell me?”

“Can’t you get out of this weather? Between the wind and the rain, I’m getting dizzy and itchy.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can. Just answer the question. It’ll get your mind off the weather.”

“Okay, okay.” Crandyke’s voice reverted to his pompous persona. “It’s a work camp. Until recently the prisoners made pine-box coffins, but since most corpses are burned to save resources, they retrofitted the plant. I’m not sure what they make there now. I wasn’t in the loop, and I didn’t really care. But the new production started only a couple of months ago, so they probably haven’t rolled much out yet.”

“Interesting.” I imagined an assembly line at a table surrounded by workers, each one vanishing from his station as the seconds passed—a bizarre scene. Why would they retrofit a plant if they were planning to kill the laborers? “Maybe I’ll get a chance to see the operation and figure it all out.”

“If you have time. My guess is that you’ll be busy collecting souls, and not just because of new executions they’re scheduling. Past executions have a way of haunting the axe men, if you know what I mean.”

“A lot of ghosts around?”

“Rumors. Just rumors. But from what I heard, some aren’t shy about poking their non-physical noses where they don’t belong. Hard to punish a ghost, you know.”

“Right. All we can do is annoy them.” I unplugged my clasp and let it dangle at my chest. Crandyke had already proven his usefulness, but now I had to refocus on my job.

When I finally arrived at the camp, I set my suitcase down and pushed my fingers through the chain links in the entry gate. The attached fence encircled a collection of old factory-like buildings—two-to-three-stories-high structures made of pale bricks and dirty glass.

Five feet above my head, razor wire ran in loops along the top of the fence. Ripped fabric intertwined with the wire here and there, and attached threads stretched out in the breeze.

At the far end of the paved entry driveway, a concrete-and-glass watchtower loomed roughly thirty paces inside the gate. About fifty feet tall, it looked like a miniature air-traffic-control tower with two rifle barrels protruding from partially open windows that wrapped the upper third of the tower.

A searchlight sat on top inside a bowl-shaped structure that looked like a concrete bird’s nest. A ladder on the tower’s exterior wall stretched from the ground up to the bowl—an odd design. Did that mean there was no access to the searchlight from inside the tower? Maybe the searchlight was added after the tower was in use for a while.

Inside the camp, the wet breeze swept through an empty yard, an expanse of sparse grass with a well-beaten path around the perimeter, perhaps an exercise trail, barely discernable in the failing light. Except for the whisper of the wind, all was quiet… eerily quiet. Considering the early evening hour, maybe the inmates were taking a meal in one of the buildings, but no lights or movement indicated which one.

A solitary woman emerged from the base of the watchtower, her back toward me as she locked a metal door. With long lines of leather and flowing blonde hair, she had to be Alex. When she turned, she looked at her wristwatch, then at me, a smile emerging as she set a hand on a hip. “I should have known you’d be right on time.”

“I have principles.” I picked up my suitcase. “And one of them is to keep my friends alive.”

Carrying her satchel, Alex hustled across the hundred-foot space between us. She whistled and twirled a finger in the air. A man looked out of one of the tower’s windows and nodded. Seconds later, the gate began dragging across the entry road. When the gap grew to about three feet wide, it stopped. Without hesitating, I marched in.

“Shanghai is in the dorm eating her dinner,” Alex said as the gate closed again. “I’ll take you there.”

“I heard they call it the Hilton.”

“They do.” She tucked the satchel under her arm. “How did you know?”

“I did some research.” I inhaled deeply. The odor of dead fish tinged the air—the river’s contribution to the ambiance. “When does the reaping begin?”

“The reaping?” Her brow bent. “Interesting angle, Phoenix, and well played. Feigning enthusiasm for this assignment, however, will not alter my watchfulness over you or Colm’s family.”

“It’s not enthusiasm. It’s information gathering. I told you I was doing research.” I gave her a hard stare, focusing on her eyes. They no longer displayed a metallic glint. “And watch me all you want. You can’t intimidate me.”

“Perhaps not.” She set a hand on my back and guided me toward a building at a far corner, a dormitory-like edifice with red bricks and clean windows—the Hilton. “There are others who might be able to intimidate you, but I will spare you that experience, at least for now.”

A human shape flitted past a second-floor window in one of the factory buildings. When I turned to focus, nothing was there. It appeared to be a little girl, but if everyone was having dinner, why would she be wandering alone in a prison factory?

As we walked, I glanced at Alex’s satchel, now in her hand, swinging with her gait. Might my photos be inside? I had to ask. “Alex, after you left my apartment, I packed all my stuff, but something was missing.”

“A picture frame with three photos,” she said without missing a beat. “I took them. Once you finish the reaping, you will be allowed to see your family again. Since another branch of government scrubs their data, I needed the photos to make sure I could find them.”

My face grew hot. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Still looking straight ahead, she kept her expression blank. “I suppose the surprise is ruined now.”

I tried to read her voice for any hint of deceit. She probably thought Misty was my sister, so that might be a way to get her to tip her hand. “Do you know if all three still live together?”

“Not yet.” A smile bent her lips. “I still have more research to do.”

I suppressed a wince. That didn’t work. I tried to think of another way to get her to spill information, but nothing came to mind.

She opened one of the Hilton’s double doors and ushered me into a small lobby where three high-backed chairs and a sofa surrounded a low table. Fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickered, and worn spots and stains marred the flat carpet. Apparently “the Hilton” had seen better days. A camera mounted on a corner wall bracket followed our movements, letting out a soft whir as it rotated.

A clinking sound drifted from a hallway to the left. We followed it to a dining area where Shanghai sat at a two-person table just a few steps inside. At least six other tables of various sizes and shapes stood to the left and right. Chairs perched upside down on the empty tabletops, many with cobwebs strung from leg to leg. Another camera sat in a bracket on the back wall, but it stayed motionless.

With a fork poised over a circular meat patty, Shanghai pushed back her hood and smiled. “Would you like to join me, young man?”

I nodded. “Assuming Alex approves.”

“I do. I’ll get the cook to send a meal for you.” Alex took my suitcase. “While you’re eating, I’ll put this in your room and personally check to make sure there are no cameras. Shanghai can escort you to your suite when you’re finished. She’ll fill you in on what I’ve told her so far.”

When Alex departed, I slid into the chair across from Shanghai and leaned forward. “I got some good info on this place, so—”

“Shhh!” She glanced at the camera, then whispered, “There’s a microphone hidden somewhere close by. I found out the hard way.”

“How?”

“I muttered something about the meat being as tough as shoe leather. The cook came in later with a new plate and said, ‘Try the other shoe.’”

I grinned. “Actually, that’s pretty funny.”

“True, but it kind of shook me up. They can probably hear our whispers now.”

I leaned back. “I’m not worried about it. I actually told Alex we’re going to try to spring Colm and his family.”

Her eyes shot open. “What! Are you crazy?”

“I traded that info to get rid of the cameras. I’ll tell you more when we get to our rooms.”

She touched her valve, fingering the clasped hands. “I’ll look forward to that.”

A man wearing a dirty apron over a white T-shirt walked in, clanked a plate down in front of me, and grumbled “Bon appétit” as he shuffled away.

I stared at the meat patty, stiff mashed potatoes, and string beans. “Is any of this worth eating?”

“Only if you want to vomit.” Shanghai slid a fork to me. “You might have a stronger stomach than I do.”

“Well, I need to eat something. The potatoes look edible.”

“Maybe. If you like them crunchy.”

For the next few minutes, I force-fed myself the potatoes. They had no discernable taste, and I had to swallow hard to get them down. Still, they filled the void in my gut, and I was giving Alex time to check on the camera situation.

When the last bite hit bottom, I pushed my chair back and rose. “Let’s go.”

Shanghai led me up a flight of stairs lit by a single flood lamp in one corner, then through a second-floor entryway and down a dimly lit hall until we stopped in front of a worn wooden door with an elliptical metallic label—205. “This is your room,” she said, handing me a key. She pointed several steps farther down the hall. “And two-oh-seven is mine. We can pass through the bathroom in between. No kitchen, though. We’ll pick up our meals in that dining area.”

I searched the hallway’s ceiling and walls—no cameras so far. “Got it.”

As I inserted the key, Shanghai padded along the carpet toward her room. “I’m going to get out of this costume. I’ll knock on your bathroom door in a few minutes.”

“Sound’s good.” I entered and flipped on the wall switch. Across the room, a bulb in a shaded lamp flashed to life, providing only a little light. Partially spent candles standing here and there along with several matchbooks proved that electricity shut-off time didn’t exclude the Hilton, and a lack of windows made the dismal situation worse, especially since the room felt warm and stuffy. Getting some fresh air from outside wasn’t an option.

After tossing my cloak and weapons belt on the bed, I scanned the room for cameras. An empty bracket, similar to the camera brackets downstairs, hung at one upper corner. The walls were bare except for a few cracks in the plaster, an ironing board folded into a nearby recess, and a framed painting above a two-person sofa. The oil rendering showed the Gatekeeper sitting on a park bench with a little towheaded boy in his lap. Both smiled while other children frolicked on playground equipment—a fantasy, really, at least for the people in my district.

A door stood closed to my right. I opened it, letting light into a bathroom. The size of a walk-in closet, it had the typical setup—a linoleum floor, toilet, sink-and-vanity combo, mirror, and curtained shower stall. The faucet in the sink leaked with a steady drip, and the toilet gurgled every few seconds. Another door stood closed on the opposite side—Shanghai’s access to the bathroom.

I shut my door and sidled to a waist-high dresser where my suitcase sat. I flicked open the latches and distributed my clothes and Mex’s cloak in the three stacked drawers, two of which had a knob only on one side. Changing into shorts and T-shirt would be more comfortable, but with a journey still ahead to retrieve Sing, it would be best to stay clothed for travel, minus my cloak. I could put it back on later.

When I lifted the final garment, the adapter tube slid across the bottom of the suitcase. I breathed a deep sigh. Poor Mex. Just a few more weeks and he would have been home in Abilene, maybe sipping iced tea with his parents and his younger brother. His nightmare service as a roamer finally completed, he could have lived in peace, far from the dark Jungle that turned him into a desperate soul trader.

I grabbed the tube and shoved it into a drawer. Those pigs! They murdered him! No trial. No witnesses allowed to testify. They wouldn’t even listen to me. They didn’t care about him or anyone else! If only there was a way to crash the system, unplug the Gateway, and send all the Reapers home.

I slammed the drawer. No. It couldn’t happen—not as long as lost souls wandered around unable to get to their destination. Mom, Dad, and Misty would have to keep waiting for my return.

Letting out a huff, I sat heavily on the double bed. Something bounced under my cloak. I dug out a dark flat object and turned it over—a computer tablet. I never had a tablet of my own, but I knew how to use one. Hanging around Paul and other DEOs provided some benefits.

When I tapped the power button, the screen blinked on, showing my face with “Phoenix – District 19” underneath. I pressed my thumb on the screen’s security box. The image’s eyes flashed. My face disappeared, replaced by a bright blue background and three application icons labeled Schedule, Map, and Messages.

At the bathroom, a light glimmered under the door then disappeared. Maybe Shanghai had opened her access door, though no latch sounds had come through.

I tapped on the Schedule icon. Nothing happened. I tapped it harder. Still nothing. Mimicking Paul’s fix-it technique, I slapped the back of the tablet. The screen cleared, and a document opened showing times and activities for the coming week. Each day listed breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, dinner at six, and curfew at eleven.

Tomorrow’s schedule included a short tour of the compound in the morning, a session called Demonstration in the afternoon, and finally, in the evening, Entertainment in Jail Yard.

Reaping filled the rest of the week’s spaces. At the bottom, a note said to wear our Reapers’ cloaks and traveling clothes for every session.

The light in the bathroom glimmered again. I set the tablet on the bed and tiptoed to the door. With a knuckle, I gave it a light tap. “Shanghai? You in there?”

No one answered.

I opened the door slowly, silently. A dim glow emanated from behind the shower curtain. With my fist tightened, I set a foot gently on the floor and eased my way in. The glow, twin clouds of pale blue haze, vibrated on the curtain, like candles flickering in a fog. As I reached for the edge of the curtain, I listened. What was that sound? A hum? A whimper?

I jerked the shower curtain across the rod. A girl no older than eight stood on the other side. Barefoot and wearing a dirty, ankle-length dress, she stared at me, her eyes glowing. With tears dripping and disappearing before they struck the drain at her feet, she sniffed and said, “Do you know where my mommy is?”