Free Orphan of Mythcorp by R.S. Darling Page A

the
bus driver pulled over to the depot on
98 th . I breathed a sigh of
relief. But when I tried to stand, I couldn’t. Not at first anyway.
My joints had stiffened up.
    This was my body’s way of acclimating to the
temperature around it. I massaged my thighs, knees, calves and
arms—which was awkward with the old lady watching.
    “ You getting off?” the bus driver
asked. “Ninety-Eighth Street, right?”
    “ Yeah,” I called out. “I just . . .”
Another heave and I managed to stand. My movements were jerky. I
felt like the Frankenstein Monster, but at least I was upright. As
I shuffled past the old bag, I stuck my tongue out at her—and
thanked God it didn’t freeze that way.
    Once the bus had vamoosed I sat down on the
bench and looked around. I was alone except for a young couple
getting their freak on in an alcove across the street. “Screw it.”
I pulled the hypospray gun case out of my pack, set it on the
bench. With joints so stiff they creaked when I used them, I
injected myself with nanites.
    Two minutes later my body temp was back
up to a safe 63. That was close. Mom would kill me she knew I was
out alone. I packed up and headed down
98 th . Someone had a wood fire
going and I could hear a domestic argument brewing in the
apartments to my right. This was the so called County Land, where
the Genesee County Community Living apartments housed everything
but a community, and where the Courthouse and Records buildings are
situated.
    I reached the records building five minutes
later. A spotlight was shining down from above the monstrous steel
back door. How the heck was I supposed to get through this
beast—even with some supposed helper?
    A shove against the door proved I was right:
Heavy steel with flush-mount double-keyed electronic lock—locked. I
banged on it with a palm. “Ash, you frigging owe me one.”
    “ Sanson,” a raspy voice.
    I swiveled quick, glad I could no longer feel
that cold rush of fear run through my body. “Yeah. Who are
you?”
    “ Nimrod.” That was it, as if ‘Nimrod’
explained everything. He sauntered up to me, a great bear-skin coat
covering a teddy-bear torso. When he stepped under the light I
recoiled. His right eye was an augmetic. It reminded me of the
cyborg eyes from that classic flick The Terminator. Nimrod reached
into his coat, withdrew a cloth bag and displayed it like it was
the Holy Grail.
    “ What’s that?”
    You could hear him breathing; each breath was
followed by a slightly mechanical whooshing sound, like an air
compressor pumping away.
    “ Thermite,” he answered, with a smile
that was going to haunt my dreams.
    Nimrod tied the pouch—Thermite, whatever that
was—over the locking mechanism. The freak then pulled a Zippo out
of another pocket and stepped back. He pressed a metallic hand to
my shoulder and shoved me back too.
    Then, stretching out as far as he could, he
flicked on the Zippo and set it to the baggie. The thermite lit
instantly. Nimrod leaped back. A cascade of sparks lit up the
night. It was so bright that I feared we’d be seen by half the
‘Community’. Fortunately the mini exploding sun winked out almost
as quickly as it had ignited. I lowered my hand from my eyes. The
reek of molten metal filled my nose and I hacked a bit on lingering
smoke.
    “ Holy crap!” I stepped toward the door.
Sections of the lock had so completely melted that I could see
inside. Nimrod grabbed my shoulder again.
    “ Watch out for the slag,” nodding at
the blobs of metal at my feet. The smaller pieces were still
red-hot. Nimrod shoved me back and kicked the door in. I could
swear his knee made a mechanical whining sound, like an old
tailgate lift. After whisking aside the blobs of metal with his
metallic hand, he gestured for me to enter.
    PLINK. The spotlight overhead exploded.
Shards rained down.
    “ Yerk!” Nimrod bellowed as something
yanked him backwards into the night.
    I stood gawking into the darkness. What
could’ve yanked that