Smog shrouded downtown San Jose so much that Old Man Gibson’s front door couldn’t be seen from the sidewalk in front of his apartment. A cracked brick walkway with dry weeds led into the brown and orange roil to a mystery environment.
Victoria cranked up the thermal contrast settings on her eyepiece, which only worked so well in the sweltering heat that had to be at least 110 degrees outdoors. She spotted glimmers of red forms behind the walls which would have been more identifiable as human were the air not so hot and the place not filled with a light show worth of old electronic devices with coils and capacitors that turned them all into miniature ovens.
A hand squeezed her shoulder.
“No hostiles,” Victoria said without turning around from her gaze into the house’s occupants. “Five adults. One incapacitated.”
The hand remained on Victoria’s shoulder.
“That’s dad,” a woman said through the muffling effect of a dense filter mask. “Where is he?”
The line of people wobbled in anticipation. Two more people each had a hand on the woman’s shoulder, also with visors and masks on to be able to survive in the smog. Between those two people was a mechanized stretcher, a soft mat held in a metal frame with eight spider-like legs.
“Your father is ten feet from the front door.” Victoria glanced back at the team, a group of family members all in their protective gear, the back to the red forms inside with partially obscured heads, who had to be wearing similar protection. She wore no such devices. “He is almost horizontal, probably on a recliner based on the active warming pads under him and the massive heat box that looks like an old cathode ray TV set across the room from his position.”
“Let’s get him out,” the woman said.
“On me.” Victoria drew her pistol. “Left. Right. Left. Right…”
The formation all followed Victoria’s directions through the murky air and up to the front door, which turned out to be a corroded aluminum-plated door with dents near the lock and battered steel doorknob. The door was already ajar and the group went through into the apartment’s smog-filled living room.
“Someone forgot to close the door and crank up the air filters,” Victoria said. “Better for the extraction.”
Every light was on in the house, which coupled with the haze caused everything to become a glowing yellow, like the building was a tormented form of afterlife where scattered small possessions littered the carpet, little items that crunched and bent underfoot but almost couldn’t be seen in the toxic cloudiness.
“Who’s there?” One of the looters scurried out from the dining room with a kitchen knife in hand. His movement looked energetic but the mess of salt and pepper hair poking out between his visor and mask straps told of his being middle-aged. He jumped up onto a table and charged the group behind Victoria, coming face-to-face with the woman in second position. “Kayla? Go home. You’re not in the will.”
“Simon, I knew you’d let down dad like this.” The woman shook her head and her legs wobbled.
“Back off,” Victoria ordered with her pistol aimed at the man’s chest.
“You brought a mercenary with you? How sisterly of you,” Simon said. “Now who’s letting dad down?”
“We’re not here for any property.” Kayla nudged Victoria on the shoulder.
“Oh, no,” Simon said. He brandished his knife. “Dad has to die for us to collect.”
“Do you not see this gun aimed at you?” Victoria moved an inch closer to Simon.
“My sister’s too much of a coward to have me shot,” Simon said with his eyes narrowed behind his visor.
“You are right, she would not.” Victoria shot twice, one into each of Simon’s ankles. “You are lucky I am not here as brute force or you would be putting on a show for me right now.”
Simon rolled on the ground and howled in pain.
“That’s my brother!” Kayla punched Victoria’s shoulder. “Don’t hurt him!”
Victoria squatted down and ripped off the man’s protective mask and visor. She grabbed the knife away from him and threw it across the dining room.
“He needs that to breathe!” Kayla stooped over Victoria and moved her hands close enough to grab her arms, but pulled back at the last moment.
“Your father needs this gear more.” Victoria stood and resumed her walk toward the living room. She almost began without Kayla’s hand on her shoulder.
The other three red shapes gathered in a nearby room as soon as there were gunshots. One of them crouched past the team and went to Simon’s rolling form. One of the shapes had the telltale position of an arm held to their head and went upstairs. Their murmurs of fast chatter were almost audible through Simon’s continued screams.
“Please don’t shoot my other siblings,” Kayla said. “I don’t need to have my kids see anymore violence.”
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