Chapter 4, "The Path to Paradise Begins in Hell"

The cold sea air stung her face and the constant whistling of wind caused her ears to ache. She sat on the damp rocky beach, her thin medical gown offered little protection from the elements. If only I could turn off my sensory receptors, she thought; once again, reminded of her condition. She hated it. A lot. She was better than this. No, more than that. I'm a goddamn Proxy, she argued with herself. She shivered, her teeth chattering. It was an altogether unpleasant feeling. It wouldn't kill her, of course. Her prosthetic skin offered protection from even the most extreme environments. But it was still annoying. Really, really annoying. At least she'd gotten used to the smell- sort of.

Grace was standing in front of Avery, her hands on her hips. She cocked her head to the side and asked, "Can I give ya a hand?" She smirked, obviously pleased with the pun she'd just made.

Avery ignored it. She felt cold. Not just on her skin but in her heart. "Yeah, thanks," Avery replied. She was so confused. The world didn't seem to make sense anymore. She wasn't even sure if she could trust this girl. And she definitely didn't trust Mark. He had 'asshole' written all over him.

Grace grasped Avery's hand and pulled her up. Avery wobbled a bit on her leg, tightening her grip before falling head first into her chest. Grace wrapped her arms around Avery and hugged her tight. "I got you," Grace whispered. It felt so comforting and familiar for the both of them. Avery was the only one that didn't know why.

"Let's get you seated somewhere comfy, huh?" Grace said. She dipped her head underneath Avery's arm, wrapping it around her neck to support Avery's weight. "Lean on me," Grace reassured her. Their fingers interlocked. They didn't let go until they'd made it back inside.

Safely inside the cargo container, the plink, plonk of raindrops hit the metal roof and echoed off the walls of the white room. The once intimidating surgical bay had now become warm and inviting compared to the bitter cold beach. Grace helped carry Avery back over to the surgical table which was still in a sitting position. "Annnd here we are," Grace announced to no one in particular. Avery hopped onto the table, wiggling her torso till she'd found a comfortable position. Which was no small feat on a metal table. Grace walked back to the entrance, pressed a button on the numberpad and the doors swung shut with a metallic groan.

"Now that the fun part is over," Grace jested. "Let's talk business." She stood eye to eye with her Avery. The once stern Grace was now back to her cheerful self. Smiles and all.

"I need some repairs," Avery said. "I can't wander the countryside like this." She motioned at her missing limbs, emphasizing her handicap. Avery wasn't smiling. Her long black hair was tangled and matted from the harsh ocean wind. It annoyed her to have unkempt hair. Everything about this annoyed her. Being disabled, having to depend on others, the questions about her past, why the Union was hunting her, and the most puzzling of all, who the hell was Grace and why was she helping her? Why did she seem so familiar? Avery couldn't trust her own feelings. She'd been hacked. Everything could be a lie, even her attraction to Grace. She might not be here at all. This could all be a simulation and she'd never know it. Doubt gnawed at her bones like a wild dog.

"Right," Grace replied. "Luckily, we've still got your other arm," she pointed to a small tray table by the corner of the room that held the lifeless limb. "But I don't have the parts we need to reattach it," she continued. "And with your Autonomous Regeneration Control on the fritz, you can't just regrow it either."

"You've got my leg too, right?" Avery, with hope in her eyes, anticipated a 'yes.'

"No," Grace said sadly, shaking her head. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. "So, I think our top priority should be repairing your ARC Unit," she segwayed the conversation, holding up two fingers to display their list of objectives. "Then we get a vaccine for the virus."

"An ARC unit?" Avery asked, raising her eyebrow. "What's that? It sounds familiar- it's a piece of wetware, right?"

"The memory block must be more severe than I thought. But you're right, it's a very important organ inside our bodies," Grace answered clapping her hands together. "The ARC Unit is a solid-state nanochip that's been implanted into stock tissue grown from the host's cells. Once injected into an artificial life-form, it initiates an autonomous regeneration sequence, attaching itself to the heart muscles and growing into biomechanical generator seated in the solar plexus. The end result being an organ that can regenerate necrotic tissue, heal almost any injury, cure itself of all known diseases, and synthesize any organic molecules that our biological tissues require. It gives us everything we need. We don't even have to eat. Theoretically, we can live forever," she smiled proudly.

"This is the part where you say, 'but' right?" Avery said sarcastically.

"But..." Grace continued, "The problem is that an ARC Unit cannot regenerate itself if critical components within the device are destroyed or damaged beyond repair. It's a Proxy's only weak point." She frowned. "However," Grace stroked her chin inquisitively, "Remember the cybernetic geneticist I told you about? Before the so-called scientific community banished him to these wonderful wastelands of ours, he was working on a top secret project tasked with solving the issue of the irreparable ARC Unit."

Avery tapped her fingernails on the metal surface of the surgical table in a rhythm of impatience, clickity-click-clack, clickity-click-clack. The raindrops played a duet from upon the roof of the cargo container, plink-plonk, plink-plonk, plink-plonk. It echoed off the walls. Avery groaned.

"Okay, sorry. I'm just trying to explain," Grace said. "The man, the geneticist, he wrote a paper outlining a theoretical procedure for transplanting an ARC Unit from one Proxy to another. Then by altering the source code, the implanted organ would resequence its DNA to match its new host." She beamed proudly, as if it was her own theory. "Isn't that fascinating?"

"Yeah, okay, that sound great," Avery said flatly, clearly unimpressed. "So, what's the catch?" Thunder boomed outside, muffled by the room's thick metal walls.

"I'm not gonna lie to you Avery," Grace said. "This won't be easy." Her beaming smile was washed away by a wave of concern.

"Of course it won't," Avery replied with heavy sarcasm.

Grace cupped Avery's hand in both of hers. They both looked into each other's eyes -- all fire and emeralds -- their gaze twinkled like digital stars.

"I'm serious, Avery." Grace's voice was stern with an unmistakable air of urgency. "We could all die out there. You are going to shoulder most of the danger. And we'll only get one shot at this. If the transplant fails, a Proxy cannot live without its power source. You'll die within hours. A slow, agonizing death as your organs shut down one by one."

A shiver of electricity shot down Avery's spine as the seriousness of the situation set in for the first time. "I... I understand." She stared down at her mangled leg. "Thank you for helping me."

"Don't thank me yet," Grace said with a long sigh. "We've got a lot of work to do. I'm thinking our best chance to find a new ARC Unit is-" she paused, avoiding eye contact with Avery before continuing, "... is to let the Union find you."

"What?!" Avery shouted. "W-what do you mean, 'let them find me?'" she repeated the question. Her mouth hung open.

"Just listen," Grace reassured her. "They already failed with the Repo Men and all they know for sure is that you're missing and your transponder stopped transmitting your location. I still have it. If we reactivate it, they'll send someone after you again. Someone tougher than a Repo Squad. And that means artificial life-forms. They'll probably send one of their hit-drones, maybe two at the most." Grace's eyes blazed like bright green gems as she schemed and plotted. She was determined, methodical, and had obviously planned this well in advance. "We've still got the extra assault rifle from Mark's former, uh, partner..." the word partner made her lips purse, as if it was sour in her mouth. But Grace continued explaining her plan undaunted. "So, we set up an ambush somewhere near the Humanists' town. That way, when we get the ARC Unit, we'll be just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the guy who can perform the procedure." She rubbed her hands together in a wiping motion as if washing them clean of the situation. "Easy peasy!" she declared victoriously, hands on her hips.

Avery, however, stared at her mangled leg, absorbing the plan, letting it sink in, considering the risks. A solid minute passed before anyone spoke again. "Okay," Avery's voice wavered. "Let's do this." Another crack of thunder shook the walls. The sound was deafening. The storm was right on top of them.

"Right," Grace said. "I'll tell Mark we're good to go." She walked to the end of the cargo container and pressed the digits on the numberpad. It flashed green once again, Access Granted in tiny letters. The door opened up with its usual metallic groan. The sound of the storm raging outside barged into the room. The oppressive wind whistled as it violently blew past the doorway.

"Mark!" Grace yelled, it was hard to hear over the storm. She stood at the edge of a waterline that dripped into puddles at her feet. "Hey, Mark!" she shouted again but nothing could be heard over the thundering clouds and splattering of rain. She delicately placed the tips of her thumb and forefinger into the edges of her mouth then let out a long shrill whistle so loud it caused Avery to nearly jump out of her skin.

A flash of lightning lit up the ever greying sky. Avery and Grace looked at each other as if confirming their suspicion. Avery was overcome with a feeling of déjà vu, as if the storm was familiar to her. As if it were a part of her. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

After hearing no response, Grace peered through the rain, trying to see some small speck that resembled Mark's figure. "Something's wrong." She began to shiver, but not from the cold. It was anxiety that gripped her.

"W-w-what's wrong?" Avery asked through chattering teeth, desperately trying to fight off the elements by pulling her gown tighter across her torso.

"I don't see Mark. He should have come back by now," Grace said nervously. "I... I think I should go look for him." She walked past Avery to a tool cabinet nearby. There was another number pad on it. Grace quickly punched in the digits and as soon as the green light displayed 'Access Granted,' she yanked open a wide drawer and pulled out an assault rifle identical to the one Mark carried.

"W-what are you d-doing?" Avery asked, teeth still chattering. She rocked back and forth, hugging herself trying to ward off the freezing wind. The wind shifted and rain was starting to get inside.

Grace noticed her obvious discomfort and placed the rifle onto the tray that still held Avery's detached arm. "I'm so sorry," Grace apologized. "I completely forgot about your pain receptors being locked. Let me get you something for the cold." She opened a bottom drawer on the cabinet and pulled out a thick blanket and wrapped it around Avery. "That's better," she said with a smile.

The blanket was warm, heated by the tray. The inner mesh comprised a fluffy wool, while the outside was lined with some kind of reflective material that trapped heat. Avery relaxed and sunk into the sheets, wrapping it over her head like a hood. She looked like human cocoon. "Thank you sooo much," Avery said with much satisfaction.

Grace didn't respond, she just patted Avery on the head and smiled, but it was a mask of reassurance. She grabbed the rifle off the tray, unlocked the magazine for an ammo check, then cocked the hammer. She cradled it in her arm, resting the barrel against her shoulder. "Stay here. He couldn't have gone far. I'll be back soon." There was that fake smile again.

She left Avery behind and stomped out into the pouring rain without hesitation, her rifle held at the ready and her finger poised over the trigger. She used her thumb to flick the switch changing it from single fire to semi-automatic. Knees bent, walking heel-to-toe, she crept towards the large boulder where Mark was last seen. Rain pelted her mercilessly, soaking her hair and dripping into her eyes, but she didn't blink. Grace was a rock. She'd turned off all tactile responses. She felt nothing but the beating of her own heart. She scanned the horizon with the barrel of her rifle as she inched closer and closer to the massive boulder.

Grace noticed the distinct smell of tobacco. She froze. It's Mark, she thought, but something wasn't right. A shiver ran down her spine. She flattened her back against the rockface, rifle raised to the sky. She scuttled along its length as quietly as possible. Looking down, she saw a pile of wet cigarette butts stuck into the cracks of the pebbles. She'd reached the edge of the rock wall. Around the corner was the sheltered side of the boulder, his favorite spot. She took in a deep breath, counted to three, then leapt around the corner with a fierce battle cry, "He-ya!"

The absence of wind was like stepping through a door. Grace ran face first into a large figure, stunning her for a second. Ow! She wrinkled her nose. The tangy taste of copper filled her mouth as blood dripped down the back of her throat. The barrel of her rifle was stuck. No, there was a hand holding it. She tried to jerk it away, but as she peered up she saw that her attacker had a familiar face. "Mark!" she said relieved; though, it was difficult to tell it was him through the thick layer of blood and bruises on his face.

"Oh, thank God!" Grace said, relaxing her stance. "I thought you were dead or something." She took a few steps backwards, but Mark was still holding the barrel of her weapon.

Mark's face was bleeding from several gashes, one above his eyebrow, another along his cheek. One eye was already swollen shut and rapidly turning purple. There were rips in his body armor as if he'd been mauled by a bear with razor sharp claws. His assault rifle was missing, so was his helmet. His breathing was sharp and erratic. His remaining eye darted along the horizon in all directions. He didn't seem to fully register that Grace was there. He looked shell shocked.

"Mark? Mark? What happened? Talk to me!" she repeated over and over, but he didn't respond. "Come on, Big Guy. Come back to us!" Grace lost her composure. She'd started to panic. She, too began scanning the horizon behind Mark for invisible threats and looking over her shoulder, the barrel of her gun still firmly gripped between his white knuckled fingers.

Mark blinked and caught Grace looking at him. He stared at her, mouthing inaudible words. His face was pale, a look of mortal terror. He released his grip on the gun, gradually regaining his awareness. He grabbed Grace by the shoulders. His eyes wide and bloodshot. Inches from her face, Mark's lower lip quivered as he spoke... "They're here."

• Read Chapter 1
• Read Chapter 2
• Read Chapter 3

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Deadman