Murder Genes Read online

  This time Kyle didn't answer.

  She called out two more times before she spoke to the blond-haired man. "Go around back, make sure he doesn't try to run away."

  The blond man left and Kyle heard a bang and a crash like the woman had kicked down door. A few seconds later and he did the bravest thing he'd ever done. He jumped from the roof. He fell sideways into the grass as he hit the ground but his backpack caught most of the impact. In a moment, Kyle was up and running as fast as he could. In the small neighborhood there were a hundred places for a kid his size to hide.

  He knew all the best spots.

  He darted into shadows and hid in holes and ducked behind fences until he was far away. They never got close to finding Kyle, there were only two of them after all.

  Kyle waited in an abandoned fort off the side of a hidden road for about an hour. Then, on the same road, he started towards the only place he knew he'd be safe. Ms. Sanders' place. She was friends with Pa and Ms. Sanders didn't have kids but she always said that if she had a son like Kyle, she'd never stop smiling. She'd take him in and then they could decide what to do to help Pa together.

  It took all day and most the afternoon and evening for Kyle to get to her house as far as it was. He ate some bread, but saved most of it just in case. Ms. Sanders lived on a farm where animals got in the way of your feet and snorts and clucking could keep you up at night.

  The whole time, Kyle thought about Pa. Kyle was confused, but sitting down and crying his head off wouldn't help anything. Wouldn't do anything.

  He walked right into Ms. Sanders house. She never locked the doors. It was really late by the time he'd arrived and Kyle didn't want to wake her so he thought he'd plop down on her couch and wait for her to wake up in the morning. But when he entered, he saw the lights on upstairs. Kyle put his backpack in her ugly wooden rocking chair and climbed the stairs. He poked his head forward to see inside her room.

  Ms. Sanders was in her bed wearing a faded nightgown. She was reading an old-fashioned book with pages. She was biting her nails. Kyle tapped on the door frame with his knuckles. "Ms. Sanders?" he called softly.

  Ms. Sanders gasped and dropped the book, she lunged toward the edge of the bed and fell off it. When Kyle saw her head bob up on the other side of the bed, she had a bat in her hand. She wiggled it at the doorway. "Who's there?" she called.

  "Ms. Sanders, it's me," Kyle stepped into the room.

  "Kyle?" The bat lowered and she stood up with alarmed and big eyes. "What are you doing here so late? Where's your father?"

  "I need..." he didn't know what. "Ms. Sanders, Pa's in trouble."

  She dropped the bat to the floor and rushed forward. "What's happened?"

  That's when the tear slipped out.

  Ms. Sanders grabbed Kyle into her arms, cooing soothingly. "Tell me what's happened," she said.

  "Pa. He had a test at work... They think he has The Code." Kyle let out an involuntary hiccup. "But I know he doesn't. He can't. He wouldn't hurt anyone, ever. You know that."

  "Oh, Kyle," she sighed, patting his back. "I...I don't know what to say. Sometimes, things aren't as they seem."

  What? Kyle pushed her away. "What did you say?"

  "I know it's hard, but sometimes things happen even if we don't understand them. We have to accept them and move on. It's good that you came to me." She waved at him, gesturing him to return to her.

  Kyle took another step back. The tears had stopped. "You and Pa were friends. He really liked you."

  "And maybe, even if we never saw it coming, your father would have hurt us."

  "How can you say that? You've known him forever."

  "Kyle. He was tested for The Code. He's a murderer."

  "I thought I could trust you."

  "Kyle. Come here." She gave him a sympathetic frown.

  "What if it were me? What if I have The Code?" Kyle asked. "What if I, right now, might kill you because I have something inside me that tells me to murder."

  Her glance toward the bat on the floor was all the answer he needed.

  "Goodbye, Ms. Sanders." He turned to leave.

  She caught his arm. "Just because your father has The Code, it doesn't mean you do, too. You're such a good boy, I don't think there's any way that..."

  Kyle spun on her and snarled. She let go of his arm and fell backwards with a yelp, scrambling toward the bat. "Goodbye, Ms. Sanders." Kyle said again. He stood at the edge of her room. "You should lock your doors if you're so afraid of your friends." He went downstairs, grabbed his backpack, and left.

  He didn't know where he'd go, but he knew he couldn't stay here. If he stayed here, Ms. Sanders would turn him in without a second's hesitation.

  He was really on his own, now.

  Chapter 3

  Murder is in the blood.

  Like all genetic expression: hair color, eye color, and sexuality, those with The Code are predestined to kill. Their blood lust is not by choice. For many it is a matter of time before they give in to their natures while others relish their identities, thriving in the freedom that our world gives them.

  They did not choose this path. Some are your friends and family. I know this and I grieve with you, but The Code will express itself--science has proven it. The Gene War has proven it.

  We've no choice but to treat The Code as an illness without a cure, unrestrained since the times of Cain and Abel. The Code has limited itself thus far, throttling its own propagation in wars and conflict. But we can control this disease before it roots deeper into our genetic code. Sterilization, drugs, and other interventions have failed us. The murders continue. We must quarantine The Code completely and let it destroy itself for a lasting solution. This is our mission as a civilized race.

  Though painful to consider, I urge you to think of the lives that may be saved.

  Our world can be one without conflict, where death happens by nature and not by intention. How many people, how much untapped potential, how much heartbreak have we felt because of those carrying The Code? We can change this.

  Our step is a giant step for all people across all nations. It is our next step in evolution. We unify across cultures and languages, across boundaries once and long unforgeable. For humanity's future. There is an answer to world peace:

  Self-Genocide.

  -Manuel L. Rafelee, President of the 78th Session United Nations General Assembly, August 2022, Conference of the Mayors for Peace

  Jay's blood had The Code in it.

  Didn't matter that his worst crime involved a drunken bar fight with his once best-friend's mother. Didn't matter that his nine-year-old son would be left alone in the world without him. And it shit well didn't matter that he hadn't killed anything but spiders, mosquitoes, and the occasional rat. Well a squirrel too, but by accident and with a car.

  Jay's DNA said he was a murderer and that was that. Whatever science said, it was like he was being punished for someone else’s crime.

  Kyle was being punished.

  "Uncuff him," the Chief Enforcer said. He looked young, maybe thirty, a few years older than Jay. His index finger tapped at his Carbon-Nanotube armored thigh, picking at a frayed seam. Stark blue eyes tracked Jay so closely it seemed as if his every thought was apparent to them. To one side stood an unfamiliar Enforcer, arms crossed over his chest. He had a big dark circles under his eyes.

  Jay turned, held his arms out for his Enforcer to release. Three Enforcers total. Just for him. The air conditioning chilled the back of his neck and the thick velcro ripped free. Velcro: endless uses! From kiddy lace-ups to murdering bastard handcuffs. He touched his bare wrists knowing they meant no freedom.

  The Chief leaned forward and pulled free a gun strapped to his leg. He turned the weapon and put it sideways on the wood desk in front of him, slowly, as if it were a fragile object that would collapse any second. It looked different than the one that Jay's Enforcer had used.

  Jay doubted there was a taser function anymore.

  A transparen
t side of the gun's handle radiated faint red, casting a light glow across the wood's varnish.

  Jay took his eyes from the gun back to the Chief. When he did there was a sudden disinterest in the man's eyes as if Jay had just been tested, and failed.

  "Welcome to Morir, Murderer City. You are here because you are a criminal," the Chief said. "You’ve been tested, tried, and convicted. You are not innocent and thus you are no longer entitled as a citizen of this country is."

  "I know," Jay said. If you were diagnosed with The Code, you couldn't fight physically or legally. Begging and pleading wouldn't have any effect either. The point was that since those with The Code were arrested, rates of murders all but disappeared, completely.

  It made Jay not care. If they wanted him to be a murderer, then fine. Because he should have fought for Kyle. He should have fought with everything he had when he had the chance. He should have forced his way out of the car. If he'd shot the Enforcer in the leg and jumped for freedom he could be with Kyle right now and they would've had a chance--even if small--they'd have had a chance.

  But Jay'd been unwilling to hurt the Enforcer, he'd been worried he'd kill the man. The irony.

  He should have done something.

  The Chief smiled. "I’m glad you understand."

  "I do. I never chose to be a criminal and I haven’t committed any crimes but I’m still a murderer. Fucking right I understand." Jay said.

  "...good," the Chief drawled, deliberately ignoring Jay's outburst. He continued, "Realize we're not here to protect you, we're not here to prevent anything from happening. Our job is only to distribute food and smother any attempts to escape." He stared at Jay. "Do not come to us for help or intervention, ever."

  Though Jay kept his face expressionless, there was a knot within his chest. They called it "fight or flight", the instinct to survive in whatever way possible. He understood what the Chief was saying. In this world where The Code coursed the veins of all within, your destiny was to die trying to survive.

  The Chief met him with a calm nod.

  Jay shook his head. "'Humane. Let nature take its course,' you guys say. All you really want is The Code to be eliminated. And you'll do anything to make it happen faster." Jay spit. "You're as much murderer as we are."

  "You're right, we are," the Chief said.

  The words caught Jay off guard.

  The Chief's lips tightened across his face. "We're in Morir as well, prisoners like you. Enforcers just happen to believe in the greater good for humanity." He gave a mock salute. "Most of us were military before they discovered The Code in our blood. We were the foremost tested. But we understand sacrifice for necessity."

  "What about him?" Jay pointed a thumb at his Enforcer. The one with the beady sunglasses.

  "An exception. Some of us with the hearts to serve don't have The Code. They go where they are needed when we suspect someone might have The Code."

  "Why'd they test me if they already knew the result? Why not just kidnap me in front of my son instead of all this cover-up?"

  "Old blood is often contaminated or mixed up. The test was confirmation."

  It felt like a complicated hoax. "You really believe that all this," Jay waved his arms around, "is good? This, is right?" People like this were why governments could commit all sort of atrocities. Jay went along with it, too. He'd looked the other way.

  But now it was his neck on the chopping block.

  "Not right. Just the greater good and a means to an end. With The Code gone, generations of people can live longer, happier, and peaceful lives at the expense of a few." The Chief tapped his chest. "Us."

  "Prisoners enforcing prisoners." Ingenious. The leaders of this modern crusade kept their hands clean.

  The Chief held up the back of his fist. "Three rules," a finger extended. "Do not attempt to escape. You will be killed." The second finger. "Never touch, tamper, or try to use any gun. Each of our guns is set to explode if anyone but an Enforcer uses or meddles with it."

  The Chief bent and grabbed the gun from the desk, slamming the hilt into the table. A tiny laser cross locked on Jay's chest. "Thirdly, don't die." He laughed like he'd made a joke.

  Seeing the gun point him in hell's direction, it seemed awfully simple. Stay and die, or try to escape and die. Fight or flight wasn't that attractive anymore. But doing nothing and dying wasn't much better. Fight and flight, then. He'd made his mistake once, no more. For Kyle, he needed to survive. "How long do people last?" Jay asked. Kyle would turn ten in a month.

  The Chief held Jay's gaze for a long second. "Most, a few weeks. Longer now since the initial influx tapered." The gun lowered and returned to the holster as slowly as it had come out. Jay felt no relief.

  The Chief raised a brow. "Any other questions?"

  "Why a few weeks."

  The Chief chuckled. "What do you think happens when you put a bunch of convicted murderers together?"

  "They kill each other." It was obvious, of course.

  "Like animals. You’ll see soon enough."

  "I have a son," Jay said. He should have known better than to say it, but he did. Since Andrea died there was no one for Kyle.

  "Then he’ll be joining you soon, if you survive long enough," the Chief replied.

  Cold sonofabitch. "He's nine."

  The Chief stood abruptly and gave Jay a large grin. "Dead meat is dead meat, no matter the age." The way he said it made Jay loathe him. "Show him out," the Chief ordered Jay's Enforcer. "Rendezvous at G in two."

  When mandated testing for The Code had begun, fear sprouted resistances to the testing. But instead of free speech, those who resisted were moved up and tested immediately. The rest of the discontent hid, Jay hadn't. He'd been confident he wouldn't have The Code.

  Jay's Enforcer seized his arm, pulling him from the room. Before leaving, the other Enforcer with the dark eyes and silent the whole time, straightened. A guarded look passed between the Enforcers.

  The heat hit Jay hard as the metal door creaked and screeched close behind them. Outside was a ghetto, a city overgrown with weeds and trash. The building they'd emerged from stood on the verge of collapse like the rest of the city. Uniform, dull, and wasting. This was the place for the country to wipe its hands of guilt, built with the structural hastiness of those hiding their conscience. An Atlantis arisen overnight, destroyed before sunrise.

  "This way," his Enforcer said pushing Jay forward.

  Around them, Jay saw no one, heard nothing. Paint chipped and faded off brick walls, loosely nailed boards criss-crossed broken windows. The earth had a sheen of a strange mineral that caught the afternoon light so that even the dirt seemed to shimmer under waste piled so high that the roads were all but blocked. The area, despite the refuse, did not smell of rot. No one had lived here for quite some time. Anyone who had left nothing of food behind.

  There was a wall surrounding Morir. Mesmerizing.

  It stood high, as tall as a skyscraper. Out from a stone wall no taller than two people emerged long poles, like the kind of jail a child would make ants escape from. Except instead of twigs they were metal bars. Bars thinner than a wrist and thinner than a man's head between them. They gleamed in the sunlight like the gates of heaven. Angelic.

  But in Morir, instead of angels were Enforcers.

  "How do people survive?" Jay asked.

  "Like your kind always say," his Enforcer said.

  Your kind?

  "Survival of the fittest. Your people made it this way. Of those who come here, barely three percent still live."

  "You agree though? That we're like some kind of disease?"

  A shrug. "See for yourself."

  Nature versus nurture, born or made this way? Made, in Jay's opinion. Then again, he was biased. "What's your name?" Jay asked.

  The man's dark, goggle-like shades met Jay's eyes. Jay saw his reflection in them. Brown, hardened features. In order to take care of Kyle, Jay had quit college. Moving from future architect to hard hat...to murdere
r. "Forget him," his Enforcer said instead of answering Jay's question. "Just be glad he isn't in here with you now. The ones with kids don't make it long."

  "His name is Kyle," Jay said. "He's got a temper but he keeps it inside. He has his mother's eyes. I can't get mad because he laughs when I try to get mad and then I laugh, too."

  The Enforcer nudged him forward. "Keep walking." They walked into ruins where the buildings were nearly leveled. Black smoke tendrilled above the dusky edifices and Jay could hear raucous laughter.

  He looked at his Enforcer. "A few weeks?"

  "We don't always find the bodies."

  So a few weeks is a guess, and a liberal one. Jay swallowed. He'd never be able to attempt an escape if he didn't live long enough to form a plan. "Why don't Enforcers protect anyone?" he asked.

  "It's best not to get involved." His Enforcer said with an empty look. Jay glanced at the man's weapons. He wondered why the Enforcer escorted him alone. Didn't matter, if it gave Jay a chance.

  "And where are we going?"

  "A drop off station. We intended it to be the safest place in the city."

  "You say 'intended.'"

  "I do," his Enforcer answered.

  "I'll die if I go there, won’t I?"

  No answer.

  It was quiet as they walked, sunlight dimming to shadows. Jay felt as if he walked into a catacombs where he was surrounded not by the dying, but the dead.

  Jay slowed, and stopped.

  There was silence behind him, his Enforcer's boots creaked, but didn't take another step. "My name's Paul," his Enforcer said.

  "Poor way to change the subject, Paul. Your safe haven is the last place I want to be." Jay turned to face him. He felt his heart hammering. The cold sweat. The thrill.

  Paul snapped the clip to his knife but he didn't pull it. "I'm taking you there."

  "Or you'll kill me?"

  "Yes."

  "You don't have The Code," Jay pointed out.