It was late afternoon when she left, the sun slipping down past the skyscrapers as Casey got off the subway at Battery Park. Security was tight, but she never had trouble getting past the guards. It was all about speed and timing and she could handle both. This time she was in the car before the guard even noticed her, just another face. The station at Ellis was mostly deserted, just the booth guys, a tight huddle of tourists – all cameras and I Love NYC shirts – and the ever present homeless, the ones she might be joining soon. ~Don’t think like that.~ As she passed, she dropped the last of her change in the hat of a man with a wheelchair, a sign “Veteran”, one arm and little else. Her dad fought in Vietnam when he was barely older than she was.
The sky was bloody orange - ~You’re getting morbid, girl.~ - when she came out of the station. The square was empty for now; none of the venders or entertainers wanted to be here, and who could blame them? Making sure no one was watching, she walked towards the water, getting as close as possible to the edge.
This was the hard part.
Cassarah closed her eyes and watched the swaying lights that flared behind her eyelids. So far, she had left most of them alone. Don’t go into the light, CarolAnn. Who knew what they did? But this one, the one she could see her faint fingerprints on, was safe enough. She grabbed the light with hands that weren’t really there, felt something inside her shift, click into place. Power. She stared across the water at the Island, placed her landing spot at the base of the ruined statue. ~Here we go.~ And she disappeared.
Outbreed. It happened six months ago, the lights and the shifting, a flash of fire. The burns healed in minutes, left her shaking. That alone scared her more than the fire itself. Fear and anger, cold blanket of shock. ~Not me. How could it be me?~ It kept her from going to the police about dad, kept her from moving up to Alberta with Aunt Kat and the brood. The Scanners were all over the place. In September, they came to her school. Casey didn’t go to school anymore. Instead, she was here, playing with the new powers as carefully as possible, learning. Flashbacks: tiny Casey, five, six years old holding Dad’s service pistol, safety on and chambers empty, not that she knew. So careful.
Casey reappeared on the Island at the greenish feet of the statue. She glanced around, nobody. ~Great job,~ she thought as she climbed over rubble older than she was. The spot she was supposed to meet Anton was on the other side of the statue. By the time she made it there, it was starting to get dark. The girl shivered, pulled her jacket closer and looked around. “Anton?” Punctuality, he had stressed to her at their first meeting, was the best quality she could have. ~So where the hell is he?~ If he didn’t show, she was screwed. In any other setting, she would have hated him. He was a criminal - ~And you’re so virtuous, huh Case?~ - and the way he talked down at her, looked at her. Ick. But when it came to work, he was her best contact to practically everyone. Dealers, Runners, Mafia from almost every country on the map, gangs, the Underground, everything. And no matter how much she hated to admit it, she needed him. ~Ah hell.~ Finally, she sat down on a copper pile that once could have been a nose or a finger, and decided she would wait. Five minutes, no more than ten, and she was out of there. This place wasn’t exactly safe.
Twenty minutes later…
“Okay, five more minutes and I’m gone.” Ten minutes later, she muttered several choice curses and started climbing back through the crushed copper and cement to her landing spot. It was getting colder and darker by the minute and Anton could just get someone else to do his work for him. She would find some other way to get the money. ~I don’t know how, but I’ll figure out some-~
“Hey chica.” Freeze. “What are you doin’ out here?” Accent, not Anton’s. Slow turn. Four guys behind her, tall Hispanic guys leaning against the base of the statue, Latin Kings colors and steel toed boots. ~Oh shit.~ Every muscle tensed and ready to bolt, she grinned, pulled out every bit of confidence and You-Don’t-Wanna-Mess-With-Me attitude she had and lied through her teeth. Just meeting her boyfriend, maybe they’d seen him, big guy about that high with a red and gold jacket. King colors, maybe they wouldn’t mess with her.
No luck there.
“Nah, we haven’t. But maybe we keep you company while you wait?” That look, like Anton’s but a hundred times worse now.
“That’s okay, he’ll be here any second.”
“You sure?” Getting closer. “Maybe we’ll stay anyway.” Five of them now, maybe more back there in the shadows. “We’ll party.” All smiles from the rest. Dropping the attitude, Casey ran. ~Get out, get out, get out!~ She didn’t have any illusions here; with five of them and one of her, if she didn’t outrun them, she was probably screwed. Literally. She doubted they wanted her jacket, or the ten dollars in her pocket. Mad scramble over chunks of concrete, copper and iron that scraped her hands, ripped a jagged gash in her jeans and the skin under it, but no time to hurt, just run. Closer. The lights behind her eyes spun frantically - ~Where is it?!~ - but she couldn’t see the right one. Closer. Stumble, foot caught in a twist of iron supports, hands catching her before she fell. ~Oh god.~
“Careful, chica, you’ll hurt yourself.” Hands hard as steel gripping her arms, twisted back with no leverage. Tried to kick at one, caught him in the knee. Something cracked, sick breaking ice and meat sound, and he fell back. The others laughed and he hit her, hard across the jaw. Yet another crack, sharper than before. “Hold the &^*%$, man.” Something in his hands, heavy metal and plastic, sharp medical gleam of a needle. ~What the hell are they doing with a scanner?~ More hands, holding her still, jamming the needle in harder than necessary, trying to make her scream, but she couldn’t. Just jerk and kick and try to get any twist of leverage possible until they pulled it out, let her drop to the ground.
Rubbing her jaw, already healing slow, she whispered.
“I won’t tell anyone, just don’t-“
“You’re Outbreed, &^*%$, you think anyone’s going to believe you?” He grabbed her, and this time she did scream, but there wasn’t anyone there to help her. Just her. Her eyes slammed shut as her shirt ripped, and-
There! The light, spinning just within reach. She grabbed and pulled the power around her. A sharp crackle of energy drove them back a little and she was gone.
For the longest time, all she could hear was the pounding of blood in her ears; couldn’t move out of her curled up position at the base of the tree; couldn’t open her eyes because she knew it would still be there when she did. The hand. Fake gold and gaudy jewel rings, the edge of a tattoo, the teleport-cauterized stump, laying on the ground a few feet away. She shivered against the wind, curled up tighter around the rips in her jeans and shirt, pulled the jacket closer. ~You got away, you’re okay, you’re safe.~ Bullshit. She was not, she would not be for a long time…
But she couldn’t hide here forever. Finally she opened her eyes, ignored the hand, ugly flaring sign of what almost happened, and tried to get her bearings. Pitch dark except the city lights burning so far off in the distance that they looked like the lights in her head, trees around her, piles of damp, dead leaves around her, under her, and something else beneath her at the base of the tree. Shifting into a crouch, away from the hand, she looked down. For a moment, in the dark, she couldn’t tell what it was. Then she focused and realized. A gun. 9mm like Dad used. Laying there, in the leaves, as forgotten and harmless as a hidden viper. Careful, always so careful, she picked it up. It was ice cold and heavier than she remembered when she turned on the safety and checked the ammo just like he had taught her. Turned it over and over in her hands, trying to figure out where it came from. In a vague flash, Joan of Arc, she saw it. A fight, bullets flying like meteors through the air. Someone died here, someone dropped it. And here it lay, left behind. ~He always said I shouldn’t play with guns…~ She stood, holding it carefully. Cold and heavy as it was, it still felt… right, sitting there in her hands. Under her fingers, she felt something etched into the handle, turned it over to look and almost dropped it when she read the words there. “Casey’s.”
~No. No way. Now you’re just going insane.~ But there it was, clear as crystal, carved into the gun. Her name. Maybe whichever gods were still watching her wanted her to have- ~Oh that’s just stupid. There are a million other Caseys out there. It’s just a screwed up coincidence. That’s all.~
Somewhere over the slosh of water and wind, she could hear voices, faint and far off. She was still on the island and they were still there. ~Get out of here, girl.~ Slipping the gun in her jacket, she closed her eyes one more time and disappeared. This time, she surprised herself by reappearing back in her cold apartment. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up tight under her arms, still shivering hard, could not throw off the shaking. Closed her eyes and whispered “I’m not going to cry. I’m not. I won’t.” But they slid out past her eyelids anyway, down her cheeks and she cursed quietly, as helpless against this as she was against her own genes. “Shit.” After a long time, she crawled into bed with the gun under her pillow, but could not sleep for the rest of the night.
