State of Decay by James Knapp Read Free Book Online Page B

keycards deep before anyone else sees him or talks to him.”
    “Got it.”
    I started making my way back to my car before the aftershock of the stims kicked in and knocked my body chemistry far enough out of whack that the ignition’s safety catch would refuse to let it start. By the time I fell into the driver’s seat, my stomach felt like a pound of ice was sitting in it and I was sweating despite the freezing cold. When I pressed my thumb to the ignition, the light flashed yellow, but it started.
    Leaning back, I routed around my emergency systems and manually popped the last stim. A few seconds later, the aftershock backed off, but it threatened to come back, the worse for waiting.
    Ice and grit crunched under the tires as I pulled out and aimed for the home office, which was the next best thing to home.

2
    Fuse

Calliope Flax—Stark Street Police Station
    “. . . where it seems some number of revivors were impounded by the FBI,” the guy on the TV said. I was squatting on the floor of the jail cell with my head back on the bricks and leaned against the bars that penned the boys from the girls. My face and head throbbed like hell.
    I opened my eyes and looked up through the bars at the TV on the wall, which showed the front of some building. Blues flashed, and a crowd pushed at a line of cops to try to get pictures.
    “No official statement has been made,” the voice continued. “Witnesses, however, recorded the removal of several revivors. . . . No word on how many total were recovered, or what they were for, but this was clearly an organized raid on a major operation. Lead investigator Nicolai Wachalowski was not available for comment.”
    “On the subject of revivors,” another guy said, “a bill that would allow corporations to utilize revivors to fill a portion of their manufacturing jobs, the so-called five-percent bill, was voted down yesterday by a fairly wide margin.”
    I shut my eyes again, wishing at least the hangover would let up. The last thing I remembered from the bar was that I’d shot some pool with the guys. A bunch of college snots showed up at some point, rich-bitch fight groupies and pretty-boy wannabes. One thing led to another, I guess, and here I was, waking up in the slammer.
    “How about that shit?” a voice said near my ear. I rolled my head against the bars that one of the college boys had sat down on the other side of. Pretty boy had a dark shiner under one eye, but besides that he had skin like a baby. His hair and clothes said he wasn’t from here and didn’t belong here.
    “How about what shit?” I asked. He pointed at the TV, where some old guy with white hair pissed on about something.
    “This is a requirement moving forward in order to remain competitive in the global market,” he said. “End of story. The bottom line is, the representatives are afraid of this bill because revivors don’t earn wages, so they don’t pay taxes, but what we are talking about here is a very small percentage of the overall workforce, even when compared to the percentage of overseas positions.”
    “Big-business interests,” the news guy said, “including such corporate powerhouses as TeraSine and CyberTech, vow to continue pushing for what they are terming labor reform.”
    “It’s bullshit,” pretty boy said.
    “What the hell do you care?”
    He shrugged. “Could affect you.”
    “If those assholes give all the shit work to dead guys, I’ll be screwed—that it?”
    “Well, it didn’t pass,” he said.
    “Score one for tier three.”
    I was hoping he’d beat it, but he didn’t. Out of one eye, I could see him looking at me.
    “You’re Calliope Flax,” he said.
    “It’s Cal, asshole.”
    “Right, Cal.”
    “What do you want, an autograph?”
    “I’ve seen you fight.”
    “You watch the chick fights?”
    “I’ve watched you fight.”
    “Most guys only tune in to silicone.”
    “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with how you look,” he said, and just like